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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27352342">replay</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/missymisery/pseuds/missymisery'>missymisery</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Childhood Trauma, Dimension Travel, Dramatic Irony, Fucking Up The Timeline, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Neglect, L’manberg Revolution Era, Manipulation, Manipulative Wilbur, No beta we die like jschlatt, Original Backstories, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Paranoia, Past Friendship, Pogtopia Era, SBI family dynamics, Self-Hatred, Suicidal Ideation, Time Travel, Time Travel AU, Time Travel Fuck-It, Villain Wilbur Soot, dreamon hunting references, ish, its not super bad (mostly alluded to) but still tagging it, mostly a stress relief project, no i dont care its canon in my heart, no ships, not a fix-it fic, not quite traditional time travel, outdated content but whatever, split timeline, this is just a glorified series of character studies, vague editor wilbur references</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-07 02:00:11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>52,636</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27352342</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/missymisery/pseuds/missymisery</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Wilbur vows to destroy Manberg. Then he suddenly finds himself thrust into the past, long before Manberg and long before independence. </p><p>Or: In which Wilbur is given a second chance and inadvertently fucks everything up.</p><p>2/20/21 — temporary hiatus</p><p>4/9/21 — Discontinued due to outdated content and lore. A lot of this was written before most of the specifics on worldbuilding was established.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Clay | Dream &amp; Wilbur Soot, Dave | Technoblade &amp; Wilbur Soot, Eret &amp; TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Jschlatt &amp; Wilbur Soot, No shipping - Relationship, Toby Smith | Tubbo &amp; TommyInnit, Wilbur Soot &amp; Phil Watson, Wilbur Soot &amp; TommyInnit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>648</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>1530</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Lemon's Time Travel fic Bin, MCYT Fic Rec</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. rewind</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I’ve been itching for a time travel fic and I’m not sure where this leads (I have vague plans but I don’t have an outline haha), so if you enjoy it leave a comment! It’s greatly appreciated.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The moon looks down at them. Moonlight filters through the thick fog of clouds, offering a dim guidance in the dark of the night.</p><p> </p><p>The war had been waging on for far too long, with far too many losses and defeats that it had been dampening their spirits, but they had a victory today. A victory that had bolstered their drive, with Wilbur still reeling from the adrenaline. Wilbur felt exhaustion weighing down on his shoulders as the thrill of combat began to fade.</p><p> </p><p>As the tall dark walls of L’manberg appear in the distance, he let out a sigh of relief. He can finally rest, without arrows raining down and the threat of forest fire. The enemies had retreated. Today, they had taken a stand for L’manberg.</p><p> </p><p>Eret walked ahead of everyone, his diamond sword glinting under the moonlight. </p><p> </p><p>“I’ve been working on something,” He said. He glanced back at Wilbur, though under the shadows of night and with the dark sunglasses that Eret adorned Wilbur couldn’t read him. “I think you’d like it.”</p><p> </p><p>Wilbur just nodded. He was too tired to respond. Tubbo and Tommy were cheering behind him, making jokes at Eret’s expense. He lets them. They’re children, after all, and despite Wilbur pushing them into the throes of war he can afford to let them have this moment, because when the sun rises they’ll have to don their shields and swords and dance with death, and he’d like to let them be kids just this once, he thinks.</p><p> </p><p>Fundy follows along. <em> My son, </em>Wilbur thinks. Fundy wasn’t a child, not in the way Tommy and Tubbo were, but there was this paternal instinct that reared its head whenever Fundy ran into war, and Wilbur wanted nothing more than to raise an arm out and keep him away from the blood, from the echoes of death and pain. </p><p> </p><p>“What is it you’d like to show me?” He asks Eret, sheathing his iron sword as the walls near. The walls keep the monsters out, at least most of them. </p><p> </p><p>“You’ll see.”</p><p> </p><p>Eret leads the way with a torch in hand. As they enter through the gates of L’manberg, as Wilbur takes a step into the grounds of his land, as his foot lands on the dirt block that signifies their territory—</p><p> </p><p>Pain cuts through his mind. It’s like a knife—its blade red hot and sharpened with a deadly edge—slices through his brain, searing and burning and yet even as it burns it feels chilling, like frost that sticks to skin when you touch it. </p><p> </p><p>Wilbur clutches at his head—claws at his hair—and static fills his mind as he hears a scream—his scream—the sound cutting through his throat painfully and terribly, and he falls to his knees. It hurts too much, and he wants it gone, wants this white noise out, he scratches at his arms, as if trying to shed skin, trying to escape, anywhere but here, because it hurts and his vision has gone to white, he can hear the faint echo of someone calling out his name, <em> and is this what death is like </em>—</p><p> </p><p>He falls into unconsciousness moments later, after his voice has run out and his tears have dried. </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Wilbur’s unconscious form was on the bed of the camarvan. Tubbo could sense the unease in Wilbur’s body. His brows were furrowed and he would twitch at random intervals, a pattern but erratic enough for them to decide to keep watch.</p><p> </p><p>The sun was going to rise soon. Wilbur still hasn’t woken up. </p><p> </p><p>“You doin’ alright, Tubbo?” He hears, glancing back as Tommy enters. </p><p> </p><p>“Yeah. Just… worried.”</p><p> </p><p>Tommy wasn’t wearing his uniform, but neither was Tubbo. Tubbo had set his coat aside when he took this watch. They weren’t in combat, after all, and they didn’t need to maintain appearances while within the walls. </p><p> </p><p>Tommy bit off a piece from the loaf he was holding, nodding at Tubbo’s words. “I take it the big man’s not up yet, then?”</p><p> </p><p>“No,” Tubbo said. “It’s just a little weird, I guess.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, he was yelling in pain and shit,” Tommy said. “It was fuckin’ terrifying. I thought he was getting possessed.”</p><p> </p><p>Tommy frowned. “Wait, is he?”</p><p> </p><p>“No… well, I mean, I’m not sure, but we can always check.” Tubbo shook his head. “He didn’t seem to recognize us when we were trying to help him last night.”</p><p> </p><p>“Before he conked out, you mean? Yeah. He was kicking and punching and that was honestly <em> not </em>a good time.”</p><p> </p><p>Tubbo was quiet, looking back at Wilbur’s body. The general’s chest rose and fell with his breathing. It’s a lot steadier than it had been during the night. But Wilbur’s jaw was still clenched and his face caked with sweat. </p><p> </p><p>Tommy set his bread aside on a countertop. He took a seat beside Tubbo, staring at Wilbur as well. “...he’ll be okay,” He said, glancing at Tubbo. “He’s gone through worse.”</p><p> </p><p>Tubbo responded with a slight nod. </p><p> </p><p>Silence lingers between them as Tommy leans back and picks up his bread. He takes another bite. The silence was a bit uncharacteristic of Tommy, who constantly filled quiet with noise. He was a speaker in the middle of an empty room, shooting off words like bullets, uncaring as to who he’d hit, uncaring for the consequences. </p><p> </p><p>Tubbo’s eyes flitted over to his friend, and he can see concern etched in Tommy’s expression. Tommy could never hide his emotions. Not like Wilbur, who was careful with what he showed, careful with his words and feelings and displays. Wilbur was the calm and Tommy was the storm, a hurricane of rage and joy and sadness who was too reckless and too eager to destroy that he doesn’t think of the casualties. </p><p> </p><p>He hears the sound of Eret’s boots entering the camarvan and Tubbo glances up, watching as Eret strides in. </p><p> </p><p>“Is he up?” Eret asks, unclasping his cape from his neck and setting it on a hook. He was wearing the uniform. He must’ve gone hunting during the night, Tubbo thinks, watching as Eret puts down his sword. Tubbo can only imagine that the sword was stained with the blood of boars, the blood of cows, of mobs in the night.</p><p> </p><p>Tubbo shakes his head. “Still asleep.”</p><p> </p><p>“Is he better?”</p><p> </p><p>“Maybe.”</p><p> </p><p>Eret frowns. </p><p> </p><p>Tommy just stretches his arms and shrugs. “Maybe a god’s fucked with his head. You never know with Wilbur. I mean, he goes on and on about the skies and gods and shit, maybe this is just another prophetic vision.”</p><p> </p><p>It’s clear Tommy doesn’t take what he said seriously. Tubbo doesn’t say anything, turning instead to Eret.</p><p> </p><p>“Do… do they know?” Tubbo asks. </p><p> </p><p>“Dream and the others? No,” Eret says, a little bit too quickly, and Tubbo frowns. “At least, I don’t think so. It happened in the middle of the night, and we were the only ones around.”</p><p> </p><p>“Fuck, if Dream knew our general was out of commission…” Tommy trailed off. </p><p> </p><p>He’d take the opportunity. Tubbo knew that much. </p><p> </p><p>“...so we keep this secret, then,” Tubbo said. </p><p> </p><p>Eret nods. “Seems like the best course of action. Though we’d need to settle for some sort of armistice, at least. I don’t know how we’d fare in another battle without Will.”</p><p> </p><p>“The fuck is an armistice,” Tommy muttered, a question Tubbo had been too afraid to ask.</p><p> </p><p>Eret ignores him. “I do think Wilbur’s absence is something we can’t just explain easily, though.”</p><p> </p><p>“We can have a proxy,” Tubbo said. “Say Wilbur’s too important for us to have walk into enemy territory.”</p><p> </p><p>Tommy scoffed. “And make him look like a bloody coward?”</p><p> </p><p>Eret sighed. “It’s our only option,” He said. “I can do it. I’ll organize a time and place. You two, take care of Wilbur.”</p><p> </p><p>Tubbo nods. Tommy looks like he wants to argue, but Eret picks up his sword and walks out without waiting for Tommy’s response.</p><p> </p><p>“...since when was <em> he </em>in charge?” Tommy mumbled, watching Eret from the glass windows of the van. </p><p> </p><p>“He <em> is </em>the second oldest, Tommy,” Tubbo said.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, but I’m Wilbur’s right-hand man!” Tommy said, and Tubbo doesn’t even have to look at him to see Tommy was seething with rage. “Just because he’s old doesn’t mean he gets to boss me around!”</p><p> </p><p>“I mean, if you were in a meeting with Dream right now, what would you do?”</p><p> </p><p>“Punch him in the face,” Tommy says immediately. Tubbo looks at him, unimpressed. “What?”</p><p> </p><p>“That’s what Eret’s trying to avoid. You’re going to cause more conflict if you do this, Tommy, and we can’t have that now.”</p><p> </p><p>Tommy looks like he’s about to retort before he glances back at Wilbur and deflates. “...I know.”</p><p> </p><p>Tubbo sighed, biting at his lip as he thought for a moment.</p><p> </p><p>“...do you want to listen to Mellohi?”</p><p> </p><p>Tommy’s frown widened into a grin. </p><p> </p><p>“Do I ever.”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <em>The_Eret whispered to Dream: We have a problem.</em>
</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. chilling</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>he feels cold.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The cold of the ocean breeze wraps itself around him, the tides and waves roaring in his mind. The seas rise with each passing second, with each tick and each tock. They crash against rock and stone and flood land. The ocean does not fall.</p><p> </p><p>The freezing air seeped into his skin, cutting deep into his bones, leaving him chilled. The sea shifts into frost and frost shifts into ice, and as the temperatures drop the cold tightens its hold around him, constricting and suffocating in its embrace. It’s discomforting, this sting of winter. It consumed him, coiled itself all too tightly around him, as if declaring him its property.</p><p> </p><p>He broke free of it for a moment, he thinks, broke free of this frozen ocean that he has drowned himself in, in a blaze of fury, red hot and demanding and fueled by nothing but spite. His anger was lava, forgotten magma that broke through the crust and was kissed by air, a bubbling pool of resentment that had been building up from the core of his soul.</p><p> </p><p>But fire was temporary, after all, the embers of his rage dying out as the sun fell and he was left with the biting cold of the night. Fire fades into smoke when the wood burns out, lava turns to stone when the ocean crashes over it, and he can feel the chill of winter sink into his chest, and it’s suffocating but he hasn’t breathed in so long with the smoke that filled his lungs that it’s almost a welcome relief, the way this cold seizes his throat with its numbing fingers, digging sharply with pointed glaciers for nails into his skin. </p><p> </p><p>He was so, so cold.</p><p> </p><p>He couldn’t suck in air, couldn’t breathe, and the world was weighing down on him, his vision going dark, and perhaps that was what where this was all leading to, because without fire there was no light, and without fire there was no heat, and he was simply cursed with true winter, true night, true <em> cold.</em></p><p> </p><p>When his knees hit the ground, Wilbur suddenly jolts up, sweat trickling down his face, staring at the walls of a room he should recognize but he doesn’t.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>“You have a lot of nerve showing up here after last night.” Dream’s voice cuts through the quiet of the forest. He takes a step into the clearing, axe in hand. His weapon glows menacingly in the night, purple magic emanating from the axe’s blade. George follows along behind him, the shadows of the trees falling over Dream’s right hand man, making George look like some kind of terrible shadow.</p><p> </p><p>“And I apologize for that,” Eret said, crossing his arms as he leaned against a tree. His own sword was by his side, though it was sheathed as a show of diplomacy. His eyes stared down at Dream. The man’s mask made it impossible to read Drea, but even Eret knew he was treading a dangerous line here. “But we’d been compromised.”</p><p> </p><p>“Right, so when you say <em> we</em>, do you mean you and the rest of your little faction?” Dream says, tongue sharp and tone mocking. Unlike Eret in this moment, Dream didn’t have tense shoulders and a cautious posture—Dream stood confidently, raising his axe and letting it rest on his shoulders. </p><p> </p><p>“I mean <em> us</em>. Wilbur suddenly passed out last night right before I led them to the control room. And he’s still not awake.” Eret sighed, taking off his shades and looking at Dream. Eret’s brows were furrowed and his lips set into a frown. “I wasn’t sure how to lead them there after that.”</p><p> </p><p>Dream doesn’t speak. George cuts in for him. “...and that should be advantageous for us, then. We can strike while their general’s down.”</p><p> </p><p>“But I’m guessing you didn’t ask me to come here just to say that,” Dream said, turning back to Eret. “Did you?”</p><p> </p><p>Eret shrugged. “I was under the impression you sought at least some fairness in your battles, Dream.”</p><p> </p><p>Dream stares off to the side, the hand gripping his netherite axe lowering the weapon down to his side. “The challenge is fun,” He settles on saying after a while. His head turns to face Eret, the empty smile on Dream’s mask daunting Eret. </p><p> </p><p>“I told Tommy and Tubbo that I was here to discuss terms of an armistice on Wilbur's behalf,” Eret said, glancing away to avoid staring into the hollow eyes of Dream’s mask. “They don’t know that you know about Wilbur’s condition.”</p><p> </p><p>“So they wouldn’t expect an attack if we planned it,” George said. Dream raised his hand, and George fell silent.  </p><p> </p><p>“I’ll set up a time and place for the members of the SMP and <em> L’manchildberg </em> to discuss this… ‘armistice’. Get all the members of your little insurrection where I tell you to. <em> Don’t </em> mess this up, Eret. You do <em> not </em> want to make an enemy of me.”</p><p> </p><p>Eret resists the urge to gulp, instead sticking out his index and middle fingers and offers a mock salute. “Of course, Dream.”</p><p> </p><p>“Come along, George.”</p><p> </p><p>Dream turns and heads back into the forest, his shadow—George—trailing behind. George glances back for a second, and him and Eret briefly connect eyes, before George turns back and follows his own leader. </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>It’s nearly been a whole day, and Wilbur still wasn’t up.</p><p> </p><p>Fundy looked up from the book he was reading—a book on the occult Tubbo had lent him some ages ago—to watch the rise and fall of Wilbur’s chest, to watch the way Wilbur’s brows furrowed and the way the man curled in on himself. Wilbur’s body convulsed at random times, shaking feverishly at others. </p><p> </p><p><em> Cold</em>, Fundy would hear Wilbur say in a terrified whisper. <em> I’m so cold. </em></p><p> </p><p>Tubbo had toyed with the idea of possession earlier, but it didn’t feel right, not with the way it was described in this book and not with the way Wilbur feels like himself, except in a way Fundy has never seen the man. Wilbur wore a mask, not literal like Dream’s, but a mask of courage, a mask of emotions to keep everyone at bay. It’s the mark of a great leader, he thinks. It’s why he feels like he’s invading something private, when he hears Wilbur’s voice shake and his body seize up at an unseen phantom. This sort of rawness—it’s like Wilbur was on display for all to see. </p><p> </p><p>He shouldn’t be seeing this. Not when Wilbur was asleep. </p><p> </p><p>It made Fundy uncomfortable. </p><p> </p><p>Fundy closed the book and put it aside. His communicator rings and he sees a message from Eret. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em> The_Eret: Will be back soon. Dream’s setting up a meeting to discuss armistice. Time and place are TBA.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>As he pockets his device and turns to look up at Wilbur, he hears the sound of an enchanted weapon materializing and finds a diamond sword pointed at his neck. </p><p> </p><p>Under the glow of the camarvan’s lamps, Wilbur’s glare looks dangerous.</p><p> </p><p>Fundy feels a chill run down his spine, staring down at the length of the blade that was currently threatening him.</p><p> </p><p>“You have five seconds to tell me <em> what the fuck is going on,</em>” Wilbur spat, ice in his tone, staring at Fundy like a stranger. “Or you are <em> dead.</em>”</p><p> </p><p>Fundy doesn’t think that’s an empty threat.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>A bit of a short chapter today! I was going to make it longer, but this felt like an appropriate way to end it :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. precarious</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>he’s cornered.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Fundy raises his hands in defense, trying not to cower under the threat of Wilbur’s blade.</p><p> </p><p>“You passed out, Will,” Fundy said. “So we brought you back to the van.”</p><p> </p><p>Wilbur barked out a laugh. </p><p> </p><p>“And why would you bring me <em> here</em>?” Wilbur asked, raising a brow. The sword was pressed against Fundy’s neck and Wilbur pushed it closer ever so slightly, and Fundy can feel the tip of the blade begin to dig into his skin. The smile doesn’t leave Wilbur’s lips, but Fundy could tell there’s this sort of disgust in his eyes as he spits out the last word, with the way he narrows his eyes and clenches his jaw.</p><p> </p><p>The question left Fundy speechless. He didn’t know what to say to that, because this was a safe place for them, wasn’t it? It always has been, ever since the dawn of this war. It’s been their safe haven, the heart of their land—this was where Wilbur began and made his first stance against the Dream. Why was Wilbur asking?</p><p> </p><p>He opens his mouth, but closes it, unsure of what to say. </p><p> </p><p>Wilbur’s lips form into a sneer.</p><p> </p><p>Wilbur’s hand grips the sword even tighter, and Fundy could feel his heart pounding against his chest, because there was something in Wilbur’s eyes that made Fundy think that Wilbur wouldn’t hesitate to drive the sword through Fundy’s neck if Wilbur really wanted to. </p><p> </p><p>Wilbur’s eyes flit down, and for a moment Fundy sees Wilbur’s eyes widen before narrowing once more.</p><p> </p><p>“Why are you wearing that,” Wilbur hissed. </p><p> </p><p>It doesn’t feel like a question.</p><p> </p><p>“I—it’s my uniform?” Fundy said, confused. </p><p> </p><p>“You think this is just a bloody joke, now do you?” Wilbur spits. Fundy flinches. Wilbur’s never spoken like this, not to anyone. His words are laced with acid, which drips from his tone and sizzles as it hits Fundy’s ears. “Pretending to be my friend, wearing that damn fucking uniform—”</p><p> </p><p>Pretending?</p><p> </p><p>“—what kind of sick game is <em> he </em> making you do, huh?” And Wilbur’s pressing the blade even closer to Fundy’s neck, and Fundy can feel the sword break skin and blood is trickling down his skin and it’s staining his cravat, probably. Wilbur isn’t speaking to him, Fundy thinks, it’s hard to think when he has a damn sword against his throat but Wilbur looks almost manic, with the way his voice speeds up as he talks, with the way Wilbur’s lip quivers and the way Wilbur’s eyes look crazed. “Done a bloody good job remaking this place now, did you?”</p><p> </p><p>Wilbur lets out another laugh. It sounds nervous, but it was still tinged with this frenzy Wilbur’s seemed to have lost himself in. The black of his eyes seem to swallow the brown—his pupils are blown out and his smile wide.</p><p> </p><p>He looks like he’s working something out in his head. </p><p> </p><p>“...are you okay?” Fundy asked.</p><p> </p><p>“More okay than I’ve ever been!” Wilbur says, and his smile widens before he shakes his head and his smile suddenly drops and his expression turns into a glare. “Stop asking like it matters to you. Stop—<em> stop it.”</em></p><p> </p><p>The sword doesn’t drop but Wilbur’s hand shakes briefly, his grip loosening as Wilbur’s eyes stare off, brows furrowed, but not quite staring at Fundy. Fundy’s communicator buzzes and Wilbur tenses, and his hold on the sword tightens again and he stares directly at Fundy’s eyes. He pulls the sword away by an inch. “Answer it.”</p><p> </p><p>Fundy nods, letting out an exhale of relief as the sword is pulled away slightly. His heart beats against his chest, the rhythm of his heart pounding like drums in his ears. The sword made him nervous, and taking his eyes off it or Wilbur for even a second felt like a bad decision.</p><p> </p><p>Wilbur was obviously not himself right now. Fundy knows that much. Wilbur must still be reeling from whatever the hell it was that happened to him. It was evidenced in the way he moves, the way he talks—tense and fidgety and like a bomb that could go off at any moment. But Wilbur taught Fundy—and the rest of L’manberg—words, not violence. And he’d have to use that now. </p><p> </p><p>He takes out the communicator.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> TommyInnit: i hate men </em>
</p><p> </p><p>“It’s just Tommy,” Fundy says, pocketing the device, trying to avoid Wilbur’s eyes. He decides, instead, to focus on the sword, and he can tell it’s enchanted, with the way it glimmers a luminous azure under the dim light of the camarvan, lighting Wilbur’s face with a sinister blue. There are magical runes etched into the blade, the kind of engraving made when making a weapon <em> yours.</em></p><p> </p><p><em> Pogtopia Stabber, </em>the runes read. </p><p> </p><p>...since when did Wilbur have that sword?</p><p> </p><p>“Just Tommy,” Wilbur echoes.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah,” Fundy says. “What—is there anything wrong with that?”</p><p> </p><p>The sound of footsteps behind Fundy made his blood go cold.</p><p> </p><p>“Hey, Fundy, I—” </p><p> </p><p>Wilbur tensed at the new voice, and he suddenly stood up. The sword was away from Fundy’s neck now, thank <em> god, </em>but he was pointing it to someone behind Fundy. Fundy stole a quick glance behind him, and he saw Eret for a brief moment before Wilbur suddenly <em> growled, </em>staring down at Eret with ice in his eyes.</p><p> </p><p>Eret raises his hands up. “Whoa—Wilbur, you’re awake—”</p><p> </p><p>“What sort of sick plan is this,” Wilbur hissed. “Are you on his side now, too?”</p><p> </p><p>“What, no—”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, I should’ve seen this coming, I really should’ve—you’re even wearing the uniform! God, is today just fucking L’manberg memorial day?”</p><p> </p><p>Wilbur’s laugh cuts through the air, a sort of harsh undertone beneath a layer of faux casualness. His shoulders shake as scorn laces his laughter, his head thrown back and hand slapping his forehead. His laughter dies down and he looks at Eret. From Fundy’s angle, he can see that danger in Wilbur’s eyes, and he’s certain Eret sees it too. “You’re even acting like you don’t know what I’m talking about.”</p><p> </p><p>“...Fundy, get Tommy and Tubbo,” Eret says, glancing at the fox. Fundy just nods, and reaches for his communicator.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> ItsFundy: Wilbur’s up. Something’s wrong. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> TommyInnit: what the fuck </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Tubbo_: Is he okay?? </em>
</p><p>
  <em> ItsFundy: Whatever happened messed him up. Hurry. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Get the fuck away from Tommy,</em>” Wilbur growls, his mood doing another complete one eighty. Fundy frowned. </p><p> </p><p>Eret raises his hands. “I won’t touch them. But maybe them being here will help things, yeah?”</p><p> </p><p>Wilbur says nothing, eyes narrowing. The silence felt even more hostile than Wilbur’s sudden aggression. Fundy glances at Eret. Eret’s expression was hard to read, but even Fundy could see the unease in Eret’s posture. Wilbur’s eyes reflected the light of his sword. His lips were set into a frown, eyeing Eret like cornered prey. Like Eret was <em> dangerous. </em><br/><br/>Eret probably saw the same thing Fundy did. Wilbur was absolutely out of it.<br/><br/>“What do you mean,” Fundy said, cutting through the tension. “By ‘L’manberg memorial day?’”</p><p> </p><p>Wilbur’s gaze snapped over to Fundy. Fundy had to suppress a shiver.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, I’m sorry,” He said, an edge of bitter sarcasm tainting his words. “<em>Manberg. </em> Happy?”</p><p> </p><p>Fundy just stares at him with confusion.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re really doing this, huh?” Wilbur said. “Acting like—like it’s still <em> here. </em>Acting like—” Wilbur cut himself off, one hand tugging at the curls of his hair as he groaned. “—acting like I’m crazy!”</p><p> </p><p><em> He sure is,</em> Fundy thinks, but he doesn’t voice it out. It’d only aggravate things, and with Wilbur pointing the sword at Eret, Fundy really couldn’t afford to be snarky. </p><p> </p><p>“That’s just his master plan, isn’t it? His grand scheme. Trying to drive me to the fucking wall—oh, he’s <em> smart. </em>” Wilbur prattles on, staring off. </p><p> </p><p>Fundy takes a glance back at Eret. Eret has the same look on his face. They have the same question in their heads.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> He? </em>
</p><p> </p><p>“Funny thing is—it’s worked a little too well for him,” Wilbur says, not particularly talking to either of them. The way he speaks—loaded with anger, a sort of hostility that Fundy couldn’t quite understand—it shifts to an unstable sort of amusement, of sudden glee, of delighted disbelief. It shifts often, and it concerned the fox, because Wilbur just isn’t like this.</p><p><br/>Wilbur hid his thoughts, hid his every intent, because that’s what a leader does.<br/><br/>Not this… wreck of emotions. This back and forth. It was unpredictable. </p><p> </p><p>Fundy didn’t like unpredictable. Not when it came to Wilbur.<br/><br/>“Worked far too well,” Wilbur repeats, a laugh escaping his lips. “‘Cept I’m not insane, surely—tell him this isn’t going to work.”</p><p> </p><p>Eret’s brows furrow. Wilbur stares at him for a long moment, his eyes looking down at him coolly. Then, the sword disappears from Wilbur’s hand in a flurry of magic. Fundy lets out a breath of relief.<br/><br/>“I’m leaving,” Wilbur said.<br/><br/><em> What? </em></p><p> </p><p>“Wait—” Fundy said, taking a step as Wilbur tried to move past Eret. Eret blocked Wilbur’s way, and the general’s eyes narrowed.<br/><br/>“Eret, get out of my way.”<br/><br/>There was a threat in those words, with the way they seemed sharp, with the way they promised danger if Eret so much as did anything.</p><p> </p><p>“I can’t let you leave, Will.”<br/><br/>Wilbur glowered at Eret. “<em>Step aside.” </em><br/><br/>“Wilbur,” Fundy said. “You’re not well.”<br/><br/>Wilbur turned his head back toward Fundy, and Fundy can’t ever get used to this.<br/><br/>“I’m not welcome here,” Wilbur said, and as insane as it sounds, because this was their <em> home, </em> what the hell was Wilbur going on about—those words sounded like they were <em> truth. </em></p><p> </p><p>
  <em> What the hell happened to Wilbur? </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Eret doesn’t step aside. The look on Eret’s face was determined. He wasn’t going to let Wilbur pass. Fundy had to commend Eret’s dedication to the cause. Eret wasn’t the leader, but he was mature, and he understood what had to be done. He wasn’t like Tommy—immature, rash, loud—but he wasn’t like Tubbo, either, who nodded and smiled at every shiny thing presented to him.</p><p> </p><p>Eret held his tongue when needed, questioned tactics if they weren’t working. Fundy was a bit jealous of that. Wilbur stared down at Eret, frost in the man’s eyes. Despite the tension, despite Fundy’s worry, he can’t help but feel jealous of the way Wilbur treated Eret like a true threat, unlike Fundy, who Wilbur never took seriously, who Wilbur held a protective eye over, who Wilbur treats like a helpless child.</p><p><br/>Ironically enough, the treatment is what makes him feel helpless.</p><p> </p><p>He thinks about the fact that the way Wilbur looked at him earlier now is devoid of that protectiveness. He should be glad, but it didn’t feel right. It was a complete turn. Wilbur was a stubborn man. He doesn’t just change his values on a whim.<br/><br/>“Eret,” Wilbur said, impatient. “I’m using words, this time. See? I’m trying to be <em> nice, </em> for once. Just let me go, god!”<br/><br/></p><p>He sounds… almost bratty. Wilbur ran both hands through his hair as he threw his head back, letting out a loud groan. “You’re so fucking annoying, Eret! I just want to go! I’m not even welcome here, you’re just prolonging this like it’s fucking torture, man!”<br/><br/>Eret raised a hand, his face not betraying his emotions. “I’ll let you go, when Tommy gets here.”<br/><br/>Wilbur scoffed. </p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, like he’ll come here on <em> your </em> word.” Wilbur glanced around the room. “Love the recreation. It’s so accurate. Were you the architect of this, Eret? Fundy?” He laughed. “God, it looks so <em> real. </em> Even has the scratches on the walls, he really popped off with the budget for this, huh?”<br/><br/>“Will,” Fundy said, his unease growing by the second. “You built this.”<br/><br/>“Oh, you’re both still on that,” Wilbur said, turning around and walking back over to the backroom. His arms are both raised up in the air, almost dramatically, as he takes steps away from both of them. “You can both just quit it, you know. I can see through both of you.”</p><p> </p><p>Fundy glanced out at the glass windows of the van. Fundy’s hand was already inching towards his weapon. He can see Tommy running, with Tubbo following closely behind. Oh thank god. They can help sort this out.<br/><br/>Wilbur turns his head toward Eret. His eyes looked at Eret with that iciness Fundy was growing more accustomed to now. He glanced over at Fundy lazily, before letting out another laugh.<br/><br/>“Even the fucking crayon suit,” Fundy hears Wilbur whisper. “<em>God.” </em></p><p><br/>At that moment, Tommy bursts through the door, hand against the wall of the camarvan. He was panting. “Just—got back. Fuckin’ creeper was hot on my ass, man. Wilbur, are you—are you okay?”<br/><br/>Wilbur suddenly whips around, his eyes widening. “Tommy?” He whispered.<br/><br/>Tommy blinks. “Y-yeah?” Tommy said. “Wilbur?”<br/><br/>“You’re okay,” Wilbur said, taking a step forward. “Why—why are you here?”<br/><br/>His voice sounded quiet. Like he was in shock.<br/><br/>“Because Fundy was fuckin’ worried about you, man,” Tommy said, confused. Tubbo peeks in from Tommy’s shoulder.<br/><br/>“Wilbur?”<br/><br/>Wilbur’s eyes darted towards Tubbo. “Tubbo?”<br/><br/></p><p>Fundy doesn’t see Wilbur’s expression when the general takes a step over to them. Fundy half-expects Eret to block Wilbur’s way again, but he doesn’t. Fundy tensed, hand reaching for his own weapon, if ever Wilbur suddenly acted up.</p><p> </p><p>“What—why are you both here?” He said. “You’re—you’re not supposed to be here.”</p><p> </p><p>Tommy frowned. “Will, are you—are you doing alright?”</p><p> </p><p>Tommy takes a step forward, hand reaching out towards Wilbur, but he jerks back, and from Fundy’s angle he can see Wilbur’s eyes, reflecting shock and fear. Wilbur was looking at Tommy, but not really, with the way his hands trembled and the way his gaze snapped over to Tubbo.</p><p> </p><p>“...Will?” Tommy asks, frowning. </p><p> </p><p>“This—no, you can’t…” Wilbur trails off, before glancing at the windows. </p><p> </p><p>“Wilbur,” Tubbo said, glancing at Fundy with a confused expression. Fundy didn’t know how to respond to that. He closes the gap within him and Wilbur, trying to calm the man. “Wilbur, I think you should sit down—”</p><p> </p><p>“No!” Wilbur snapped, whirling around and the sword is back in his hands again, slicing through the air. Tommy and Tubbo jumped back as the sword cut through in a sweeping arc. Wilbur’s shoulders rose and fell, the man’s breathing becoming more erratic as the rest of them stared at him worriedly. “I need—I can’t—”</p><p> </p><p>Wilbur looked down at the ground.</p><p> </p><p>“This isn’t—this isn’t happening,” Wilbur mumbled, and it was quiet enough that Fundy had to perk his ear just so he could hear that. “They’re not here. They can’t be here. He’s not—they’re not on his side, they’re not, but they could be—”</p><p> </p><p>His head suddenly snaps up. “I need to get out of here.”</p><p> </p><p>He walked forward. Eret tried to stop him but Wilbur just pushed him aside. Eret wasn’t expecting the shove, letting out a groan as his back hit the brewing stand, the stand falling over and glass shattering as it hit ground.</p><p> </p><p>Tommy rushes forward to grab at Wilbur’s sleeve, but Wilbur pulls away, shooting a dirty look at the teenager before he stops at the door to the camarvan, one hand against the door frame and his head peeking out.</p><p> </p><p>They all stop as they watch Wilbur from behind, not seeing the general’s expression as they hear Wilbur mutter, “No.”</p><p> </p><p>Tommy glances at Fundy, “What happened?”</p><p> </p><p>“We don’t know,” Fundy whispers back. He turns his head back towards his father. </p><p> </p><p>Wilbur was still for the longest moment, just staring out into the dark of the night. He doesn’t step out. He doesn’t move. No one is sure what to do. </p><p> </p><p>“This isn’t—” Wilbur began, and Fundy sees his shoulders shake, the sword falling from his hand and clattering on the steps to the van. Wilbur takes a step forward, one hand outstretched. “This can’t be real. It’s not—it’s not possible.”</p><p> </p><p>The words were quiet. Fundy wasn’t even sure if Tommy or Tubbo heard them.</p><p> </p><p>“Surely not, right? The walls—they can’t—they’re not—this has to be a dream. It has to be. This isn’t real. It’s <em> not.”</em></p><p> </p><p>Wilbur was talking to himself, his words becoming faster and faster as he spoke. He lets out a laugh, full of nervous energy and an underlying current of fear. </p><p> </p><p>“This has to be a fucking nightmare,” Wilbur said, taking another step forward, his voice louder now. His voice shakes as he speaks, and there’s a fragility in those words, like they have to be true or else Wilbur will shatter. “I can’t—it’s not—I—”</p><p> </p><p>Fundy sees Tommy step forward from his peripheral vision. “Wilbur—”</p><p> </p><p>Wrong move.</p><p> </p><p>Wilbur suddenly whirls around, his eyes wild with fear. “Get out,” He chokes out.</p><p> </p><p>“Wilbur—”</p><p> </p><p>“I said get out,” Wilbur repeats. “Get <em> out!” </em></p><p> </p><p>When no one moves, Wilbur glances back outside, and before they can do anything, he bolts.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hellooo! A bit late, but I kept getting distracted while makin’ this chapter... I hope you all enjoy, though!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. interlude</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>we take a break from our regularly scheduled program.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The walls of the ravine stretch out above him. The only things he can hear are the noise of his shoes hitting the wooden panels of the prime path, with the gentle sound of water dripping down from the stalactites above him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He pulls down his hood as he enters. There was no one else here, else there would have been the noise of anger echoing down these halls, there would have been scuttling of feet, hurried steps avoiding maddened laughter.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We should be safe here,” Tommy mutters, unclasping the hook of his hood and laying it down on one of the wooden chests at the communal area of Pogtopia. He glances back at Quackity. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why is it so… empty?” Quackity asked, head turning as he took in the expanse before him. “Is Wilbur here?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No,” Tommy said. “I haven’t seen him since last night.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Quackity frowned. “And… that’s not concerning?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He went to go see Technoblade. I don’t know.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Technoblade. The thought of Technoblade made Tommy’s fingers twitch. He can hear fire in his mind beginning to roar, a low whisper that would soon become a scream, a demand. Tommy stamped out his anger before it could form into an all consuming blaze of fury. He can’t be driven by emotions now. But dammit, it was so hard not to.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Wh—wait, no, what the fuck?” Quackity said. “I get that he’s your ally and all, but… Techno? After yesterday, I thought Wilbur would have avoided the guy like the fuckin’ plague, man.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tommy shrugged, looking away from Quackity. He ran a hand across the wooden surface of one of the chests before opening it and examining its contents. “Can we not talk about Wilbur?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I just—I just don’t want to,” He said. Tommy knew he sounded stubborn, sounded childish, but he didn’t want to talk about it. There were bigger fish to fry, and Wilbur’s plans for fucking chaos or something was none of Tommy’s business. Not yet, at least. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Quackity frowned. “Did—did something happen, Tommy?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Other than the fuckin’ disaster at the Festival yesterday?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh come on, don’t be a smartass,” Quackity said. “You know that’s not what I meant.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tommy didn’t say anything. Quackity shuffled his feet, biting down at his lip. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How… how’s Tubbo?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Doing better,” Tommy said, kicking down at the ground. He shoved his hands into his pockets, avoiding Quackity’s eyes. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tommy doesn’t turn around to see what the other was doing. Quackity must be unsure of what to say. Tommy doesn’t fill the silence with a response. He probably should. But he wasn’t feeling words today. Not after yesterday. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Fireworks echoed in the back of his mind when nothing else filled the quiet. Pyrotechnics going off with a loud bang, a cacophony of noise following along the ensuing chaos. He doesn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>want </span>
  </em>
  <span>to think about it, but there was a part of him that wanted to grab at the memory and leave it on replay until he could see nothing else, until he saw nothing but death and betrayal and the need for retribution. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His knuckles ache with the memory of pain. Tommy clenches his fist, thinking of the manic glee that seems ever present on Wilbur’s face these days, thinking of the way his eyes looked down at Tommy and Techno at the pit, smiling as he pit them against each other, like they were merely toys for his amusement.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tommy didn’t want that. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He glanced towards the entrance of Techno’s potato farm. He sighed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The festival’s been tough on all of us, Big Q,” Tommy said. He looked down at his feet. “This sucks.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“...yeah,” Quackity said after a moment, nodding. “It really fucking blows.”</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Techno jumped off his horse, tying its lead to a fence. He looked out at the sky. Orange and blue bled together as the sun set, but he didn’t bother to marvel at the view. He walked, heading to the makeshift wooden shack he built haphazardly the night before. </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He swung the door open. He was almost disappointed when he saw Wilbur’s form on the bed, still asleep. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He shrugged off his cloak, placing it on a hook by the door. Techno shut the door behind them. He walked off to the side of the bed, sliding down against the wall and sitting on the floor. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He rested his arms on his knees, just watching the steady rise and fall of Wilbur’s body. He nearly didn’t want to disturb the man’s rest. Wilbur never slept well, if he even did these days. Wilbur could use the sleep. And he seemed peaceful in the silence. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It could almost make Techno forget frenzied laughter and a fire in Wilbur’s eyes. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But Techno wasn’t going to fool himself. When Wilbur wakes up from this, he’ll be back to normal, rambling on and on about destruction, about chaos, about plans he’d enact alongside Technoblade, talking with an all too wide smile and madness in his eyes. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Technoblade did enjoy the quiet, though. He just knew it wouldn’t last. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Besides, Wilbur’s been asleep for far too long than necessary. It was a little concerning, especially in regards to their plans. This would be… an unfortunate setback. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He had been hunting, after all that happened. He needed some reprieve from the tense air in Pogtopia. And the rush of excitement from the massacre had still been running through his veins. And Wilbur followed along. That was last night.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Then Wilbur passed out.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The man was probably just tired. The adrenaline had faded and his own exhaustion had finally crashed down on him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’ll be fine. He’ll just keep on watching Wilbur for now. Just to make sure the man doesn’t die. He was defenseless in this situation, after all, and Technoblade was the only person who could protect him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Techno ponders on the day before, looking down at his hand. It twitches slightly. He had bandaged them, but the split skin from the fight must’ve scabbed over by now. His body still ached from the hits Tommy landed on him, but Techno was used to the hurt. He was a fighter, after all. He knew pain. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He wonders if Tubbo forgave him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He knows Tommy wouldn’t.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Techno slipped off his mask, setting it down on the floor beside him. He should really sleep. But it’s okay. He’ll get some rest when Wilbur wakes up. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tomorrow would be a new day.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>For now, he’ll keep an eye on Wilbur Soot. </span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Sorry that this chapter’s a bit short! It’s not supposed to be super lengthy, and I have some issues with it personally, but I hope you guys still enjoyed.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. actor</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>set the stage.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Wilbur—WILBUR!” Tommy yells after the man, rushing out, sword in hand, but an arm pulls him back. “What the fuck—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eret stares him down. “Tommy, calm down.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tommy looks back in disbelief. “How the fuck can I calm down if he’s run off into the night with mobs that could get him killed?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He’s panicked. Trying to get close to him will only make things worse. We’ll tire him out, then pearl towards where he ran off to.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tommy doesn’t try to pretend he was convinced. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And if he </span>
  <em>
    <span>does </span>
  </em>
  <span>get killed—he’ll respawn. It’ll be fine, Tommy—“</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How do we know his respawn wasn’t fucked with, huh?” Tommy shoots back, glaring at Eret. “He’s acting weird, Eret, and this clearly isn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>normal. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He has an enchanted sword—where the </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span> did he get that?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eret says nothing. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“God, I don’t have time for this—” Tommy says in exasperation and turns back around. He could see Wilbur’s form escaping the walls of L’manberg. Tommy wretched himself free of Eret’s grasp, running in the direction Wilbur did. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was dark out, and Wilbur was nowhere near Tommy’s vision, which was just fucking great, now was it? He could have gone anywhere, and Tommy couldn’t think with this sense of panic and urgency blaring at the front of his mind. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Wilbur!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Can’t stop. He hears the sound of a skeleton drawing back its bow, an arrow barely missing him as he ducked his head down and continued to run. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Wilbur!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The sounds of a zombie grunting behind him only served to remind him of the danger ringing in his ears. Wilbur was </span>
  <em>
    <span>out there</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and normally Tommy could trust the man to take care of himself, but Wilbur wasn’t well, and in a land full of monsters and men who wanted them dead Tommy couldn’t think of anything but every terrible terrible thing that could happen to Wilbur without them.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“WILBUR!”</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>This isn’t real this isn’t real this isn’t real none of it is he’s dreaming this is a nightmare and it’s freezing he can hear firecrackers and laughter and he felt scared the ocean was roaring behind him and he’d get swallowed up by it except this time he can’t swim up can’t kick his legs can’t find air—</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Tommy ran, panting heavily as he whirled his head around, yelling Wilbur’s name when he’d take a moment to stop, before picking up the pace and continuing his search frantically. He was searching blindly, at this point, beyond the walls. He wasn’t even near any other landmarks. He could see them in the distance, but as Tommy leaned against a tree and slid down, taking in breaths, he knew he was a ways from the rest of the SMP. </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He slumped against the rough bark of the oak tree in exhaustion. Tommy could feel the adrenaline fading and fatigue weighed down on him. Sweat ran down his temple, and he shrugged off his coat, setting it down beside him. He couldn’t afford to stay here, he knew, not at this hour. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tommy took out his communicator, and found a single message from ten minutes ago.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Tubbo_ whispered to you: Did you find him?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tommy ran a hand through his hair, letting out a sigh. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>/msg Tubbo_ no</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>/msg ItsFundy what the fuck is going on</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He closed the device, pondering on the events earlier.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur’s crazed eyes flashed in his memory, and Tommy had to suppress a shiver. Wilbur… he’s never been that erratic. Wilbur sounded almost unhinged. Was he that out of it? Sure, Wilbur could be harsh at times, but… not like that.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was almost terrifying.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He knows Wilbur wouldn’t approve of this. Wilbur wouldn’t want Tommy to keep searching, he’d want Tommy to take a break and work out some kind of plan.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That’s why Tommy could never be Wilbur.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’d never admit it to the general, but Tommy knew he never had the patience to be like Wilbur. Wilbur was smart, thought things through—Tommy was the opposite. Tommy acted out on his emotions, acted on his passion, never truly thinking of the consequences until they came crashing down on him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He knew that.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tommy bit the inside of his lip. Wilbur was always there to clean up his messes, always there with an I told you so, but Wilbur never left no matter what stupid shit Tommy got the man into. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Except now, Wilbur was the one in trouble.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>dammit, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Wilbur,” Tommy muttered. He groaned.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>TommyInnit: couldnt find him</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>TommyInnit: be back soon</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He got up. He can’t believe he’d have to be taking Eret’s advice on all this. </span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Or maybe it is real, and if it is, he’s having a second chance, and that means—</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>The sun rises on a new day. </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur still didn’t return. Tommy had cursed at Eret for Eret’s inaction, telling Eret off for wasting time they could’ve used searching. Eret had brushed off Tommy, instead scolding the teenager for running off and not taking his advice in the first place.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Even if he didn’t return last night,” Eret said, putting on his uniform and packing his things. “There was no use in exhausting ourselves. We need to be level headed about this, Tommy. It’s what Wilbur would want.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Fuck what Wilbur wants,” Tommy hissed. “If I was in charge—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We’d be dead,” Eret finished for him. It was blunt, but Eret didn’t have time for it. He slung his pack over his shoulder, glancing back at Tommy. “Are you coming, Tommy, or are you going to keep telling me off for my decisions?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m coming,” Tommy grumbled. The two of them stepped out of the van, walking together as the sun made its way to its spot in the sky. Tommy looked up, squinting at the daylight. “D’you think Wilbur slept?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He probably passed out from the exhaustion, if I were to guess,” Eret said, walking with Tommy. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They headed off into the forest. It’d be easier to find Wilbur in the daylight. The communicator weighs on Eret like it was the sky, and he’s Atlas holding it up with nothing but his shoulders and a carefully crafted lie.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Guilt gnawed at him, at times. They trusted him. He shouldn’t be doing this, shouldn’t have to keep up this act, he should be </span>
  <em>
    <span>with </span>
  </em>
  <span>them, but the reward for his lie was all too sweet and Eret wanted it. He wanted it more than anything, really, that promise of safety, that promise of power, of </span>
  <em>
    <span>importance.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>L’manberg was full of promise but he wasn’t the main act, now was he? He was another soldier in Wilbur’s play, faceless and insignificant. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He just didn’t expect to have to keep it up for any longer than he already has. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur’s reaction last night startled him. Did Wilbur know? Wilbur’s eyes were vivid with resentment, staring through Eret like the man was glass. But Wilbur can’t have, unless Dream told him, and despite Dream’s knack for chaos that doesn’t mean Dream would let go of a tactical advantage just to bother Wilbur.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Besides, Wilbur wasn’t paranoid. He’d never fall for a trick like that. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And Wilbur seemed hostile towards Fundy, as well. Which was odd by itself. Because Wilbur was overprotective of the fox. He doted on Fundy, almost suffocatingly so, Fundy had admitted once, but last night, there was venom in Wilbur’s tone, a tone Wilbur had never used on any of them.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It puzzled Eret to no end. He’d have to tell Dream eventually, of course, but…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A part of him didn’t want to. Eret didn’t know why, because technically, he wasn’t even on L’manberg’s side, but the part of him that still believed in Wilbur’s ideals, the part of him that wasn’t eroded by months of fearing for his life, that part still felt rooted deeply within the beliefs of their nation. A part that still cared, somewhat. (And there was a part of him that didn’t trust Dream, a part of him that was terrified of the man, but he ignored that.)</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Not like that mattered, though.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tommy was rambling on about something beside Eret. Eret had tuned him out ages ago. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“—are you even listening to me?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Not really,” Eret said, walking ahead. He climbed up on a hill, looking over at the plains through the thick of the forest. They weren’t too far from L’manberg, but it was a bit of a walk to get there. Maybe Eret was being too harsh on Tommy. But Eret was tired, and the pressure from Dream and this situation was getting to him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tommy jogged to catch up. “Well, you should. I was talking about what could’ve happened.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We can deal with it when we find Wilbur.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tommy frowned. “Does he even know what happened to him? I’m just saying, we have to consider every possibility—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And I get that, Tommy, I really do,” Eret said, sighing. He’s not being harsh. He really isn’t trying to be here. He gets Tommy’s worries. But in this situation, without Wilbur, they needed someone to rely on. (</span>
  <em>
    <span>Isn’t it funny that the man they can rely on is a traitor</span>
  </em>
  <span>, a part of him whispers in a voice that sounds awfully like Dream.) “But I just think we need to have all the facts before we come to any conclusions, you know?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tommy looks down, not saying a word. Good, Tommy gets it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They keep walking. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m not trying to antagonize you, you know,” Eret says after a while, heading deeper into the trees. Tommy looks up at him. “You’re just…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Irrational?” Tommy finishes for him. Tommy scoffs. “You sound like Wilbur.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m not trying to.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You don’t have to,” Tommy said. “I get it. I’m fuckin’ emotional, or whatever. A ‘liability’, whatever that means.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tommy was trying to play it off, but Eret could tell it was getting to the teen.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eret frowned. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m not trying to discredit you, you know. You’re Will’s right hand man for a reason.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tommy let out a laugh. “Guess so. The big man has faith in me, doesn’t he?” He kicks at the ground. “I know I’m awesome, okay? I don’t need any reminding. Don’t need your apologies for being such a lame man, either.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eret doesn’t say anything at that. Tommy was putting up the bravado. Eret knew it was a front. But he doesn’t call it out, because he didn’t want to break down Tommy’s walls. Tommy didn’t need to be broken down. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’d let Tommy have this.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They keep walking, and Eret stops when he hears the crunching of leaves up ahead. They were by a river, and despite the sounds of the water rushing he could still hear footsteps along the grass. Eret raises a hand in front of Tommy. Tommy nearly stumbles on Eret’s sudden movement.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Wh—hey—!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Shh,” Eret whispered, drawing his sword. “Do you hear that?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tommy frowned, before his eyes widened at the sound of movement and stepped back, giving Eret a glance. Good. Tommy heard it too.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Judging from the sound, it wasn’t too far. Below them, Eret thinks, looking down at the hill they were on. He saw blue fabric billowing behind someone—a cloak, Eret could tell. The L’manberg uniform. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eret looks at Tommy. Tommy looks at him too. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They both look back down, Eret carefully taking steps down to make sure Wilbur doesn’t hear them. Eret hops off and approaches from behind, his movements cautious and wary. Wilbur could still be on edge.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur’s standing with his sword by his side, though he doesn’t seem to have it drawn as a threat. The blade is touching the ground, and Wilbur looks relaxed. He’s facing the hill, staring at the dirt. Tommy follows behind Eret, giving Eret a worried glance. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“...Will,” Eret started. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur turned around. There was none of the manic energy from last night in his eyes, none of the aggression and the awful smile on his face. Wilbur looked tired, and Eret hadn’t noticed this last night, but under the shade of the trees above them, Wilbur looked almost pale. There were bags under his eyes, far darker than Eret recalls. Their situation in L’manberg was hard, and it was difficult to sleep at times, but Wilbur never looked this… ghastly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was like looking at a dead man. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Did Wilbur even get any sleep?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Eret,” Wilbur said, offering a small smile. He sounded calm. That was a start. “Sorry for… rushing off last night.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What happened?” Tommy asked, stepping out from behind Eret. Wilbur blinked, and for a brief moment Eret saw Wilbur tense before relaxing.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I think I just woke up from a bad dream,” Wilbur said, running a hand through his hair. He let out a small laugh. “Nothing to worry about.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eret frowned.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Really?” Tommy asked. “Last time I checked dreams don’t make you fucking try to kill everyone.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It was a really bad dream. I didn’t realize I had woken up when I did,” Wilbur said. “I’m sorry for not coming back. I… had been afraid to come back, I guess.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He turns away from the two of them, looking out into the river. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur seemed normal now. Was that really just a lapse in Wilbur’s sense of reality, then? But—when Wilbur passed out, why did he scream in pain? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>What the </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span> was going on?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Let’s just go home,” Eret said. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur looked at Eret. He stared at Eret for a long moment, brown eyes piercing, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>he knows</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Eret thinks, but then Wilbur just smiles at him and goes, “Alright, Eret.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eret was taken aback by that.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Lead the way.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur was fine, he thinks. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>This was fine.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Things can get back on track.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eret smiles back at Wilbur, smile carefully crafted and lined with deceit. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Of course.”</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The gods must be smiling at him.</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Sorry for posting this a lil late! Only managed to finish this now, haha. The past few days have been a little hard writing wise. Are y’all excited for the 16th? That clip of BBH saying he’s going to incite more conflict between Manberg and Pogtopia... that’s been on my mind.</p><p>Anyway, thank you all for your lovely comments! I haven’t said this enough but they really keep me encouraged to keep writing! I don’t think I’ve ever had a fic to ever get as much traction as this, lol. I appreciate all your comments and I’m glad people like my writing &lt;3 Thank you for reading!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. trust</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>coming up with a theory.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“So it can’t be possession, then,” Fundy said, leaning over Tubbo’s shoulder. Tubbo shook his head.<br/><br/>“Didn’t say can’t. Just saying not likely.” <br/><br/>Fundy’s tail swished behind him as he watched Tubbo write something on an empty journal. Tubbo’s lines were harsh and dark. He was chronicling the events of yesterday. <br/><br/>“I should really keep a diary,” Fundy commented. “Might prove useful someday.” <br/><br/>“I only keep track of these sorts of things,” Tubbo said, noting down Wilbur’s aggression from last night. </p><p> </p><p>“Maybe we should write down the events of this war, you know?” Fundy suggested, half-jokingly. “It’ll be a record of all our fights, our victories. We can look back on it if—<em> when </em> we win.”</p><p> </p><p><em> Mood swing, memory lapses </em> — <em> visions? </em> He encircles the last bit, frowning. The way Wilbur had suddenly yelled in pain was partly why Tubbo wanted to attribute this to the supernatural, but it didn’t feel <em> right. </em> But the thought of visions… that was never his expertise—that was Wilbur’s. <br/><br/>“Fundy, does Wilbur ever talk to you about… prophetic visions?” Tubbo asked, looking up from the pages of the notebook. <br/><br/>Fundy frowned. “Not really… but he does mention the gods sometimes. Just off-handedly, I guess. Do you think it has something to do with that?” <br/><br/>“Quite possibly, yeah,” Tubbo said. “Especially with last night. You said he acted like—” <br/><br/>“Like L’manberg wasn’t supposed to be here,” Fundy finished, nodding. “That does make sense…” <br/><br/>The sound of footsteps entering the van made Fundy turn. Eret entered first.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re back,” Tubbo said, looking up at Eret. “Is Wilbur…?”<br/><br/>“He’s fine,” Eret said. Eret put down his hat and shrugged off his cloak, setting it on a nearby hook. Tommy followed him inside, glancing behind him. <br/><br/>“You might wanna explain yourself to them, big man.” <br/><br/>Tubbo nearly stood up when he saw Wilbur enter.</p><p> </p><p>“Sorry about last night,” Wilbur said. Wilbur looked exhausted. He was hunched over, as if unsure of how to present himself. The man ran a hand across his hair, letting out a sigh. “I… I don’t know what came over me.”<br/><br/>“It’s okay,” Tubbo said. “I think me and Fundy got it figured out.” <br/><br/>Wilbur blinked, looking up from where he was staring at the ground. “Huh?” <br/><br/>“You passed out in the middle of the night,” Tubbo said. “Screaming in pain.” <br/><br/>Wilbur nodded. “Yeah…?” He frowned. “Where are you going with this, Tubbo?” <br/><br/>“I think I might need more information before I tell you,” Tubbo said. Fundy gave Tubbo a questioning look. “Just to make sure my other theory is wrong, you know?” <br/><br/>Wilbur was quiet for a long moment. Tubbo wasn’t sure if he imagined Wilbur’s eyes narrowing for a second, because Wilbur said suddenly, “Alright, then. I trust you.” <br/><br/>Wilbur took a few steps further inside. Wilbur seemed calm now, which made Tubbo suspect their new theory was the right one. He might’ve been able to sort out the visions from reality, in which case Tubbo wasn’t certain how Wilbur would go about it. Tubbo trusted that Wilbur knew what he was doing. If Tubbo was right, and Wilbur doesn’t say anything, Wilbur might not be trying to cause panic. If Wilbur does say something about it, then Wilbur might see that as the best course of action. <br/><br/>He was a leader, after all. Tubbo knew Wilbur had to choose what to say. Every great leader has secrets. Wilbur was no exception. <br/><br/>Wilbur hopped on the bed. “I really do apologize about last night. I didn’t mean to lash out like that. I just… didn’t quite register where I was, I suppose.” <br/><br/>“Bad dream,” Tommy said. “Right?” <br/><br/>“Y-yeah, nightmare,” Wilbur said, rubbing at his eye. “Thought L’manberg was gone.” <br/><br/>That checked out with Tubbo’s theory. But he wasn’t sure if Wilbur understood that—maybe he should say something? He glanced at Fundy. Fundy seemed to have the same thoughts. <br/><br/>What should he do? <br/><br/>“Though it seems ridiculous saying it, doesn’t it,” Wilbur said, letting out a laugh. He sighed. “L’manberg’s always at threat. That reaction—it was a little much, wasn’t it?” <br/><br/>“Well then that tracks,” Tubbo said a little hesitantly. He looks over to Fundy for a second. Fundy nods. “Wilbur… Have you considered for a moment that that wasn’t <em> just </em>a dream?”</p><p> </p><p>Wilbur stops for a second. Eret and Tommy seemed to be curious as well. “I… how so?”<br/><br/>“Well, you’ve always talked about your relationship with gods, right?” Tubbo said. “Maybe they showed you something.” <br/><br/>Wilbur seemed to consider it for a moment. “It does explain things…” <br/><br/>“And it explains why you just started to freak out,” Tommy said, butting in. “You must’ve been in the middle of some future seeing shit, man. No wonder you were like that. You didn’t realize you were in reality.” <br/><br/>Tubbo wasn’t sure if Wilbur knew more than what he was letting on. Wilbur seemed awfully quiet, but he could also be mulling over the information, right? <br/><br/>“I think I’ll need some time to think things over,” Wilbur said, leaning back. He looks up at the ceiling. “If that dream really was a gift from the skies, then the future seems a bit bleak.” <br/><br/>“...how so?” Tommy asked. <br/><br/>Wilbur glances at Eret, before looking back at everyone else. “Like I said, L’manberg was gone.” <br/><br/>“What, you mean Dream won?” Tommy said. <br/><br/>“Maybe,” Wilbur said. “I can’t make sense of it. All I remember was—was thinking that this wasn’t here. That this land—L’manberg—it was gone.” <br/><br/>Tubbo frowns. “That’s… not good. So we lost, then?” <br/><br/>“Well, we haven’t lost yet,” Eret said. Wilbur’s head snapped towards him. Tubbo noted the discomfort on Eret’s face. “I was trying to set up a meeting with Dream when you were asleep. Trying to buy us time, you know. I was going to try to negotiate a temporary armistice.”</p><p> </p><p>Wilbur stared at Eret. Tubbo couldn’t read the look on his face, but it looked like Wilbur was contemplating something. Like the gears were turning in his mind. <br/><br/>“I want to talk to Dream,” Wilbur said suddenly. <br/><br/>Eret froze. “What?” <br/><br/>“You heard me,” Wilbur said, jumping off the bed. “We have to end this war one way or another. I want to see him. Just me and him.” <br/><br/>Tommy frowned. “Will, is that really a good idea—” <br/><br/>Wilbur walked through the van. He stopped for a second, staring at his reflection on the glass, before turning back towards Tommy. “We’ve won battles, but we’re still at a severe disadvantage, Tommy. Winning a battle does not mean winning the war. We’ve only established ourselves as a threat, but can we really hold on out, Tommy?” <br/><br/>He lets out a sigh, before setting his lips into a determined line. <br/><br/>“Eret, set up the meeting.” <br/><br/>“But Wilbur, you need to rest,” Tommy insisted. “You’re not well—” <br/><br/>“And this country is on a fucking timer, Tommy,” Wilbur said, cutting him off. “We don’t have the <em> time. </em> ” <br/><br/>“At least let me come with you,” Tommy said.</p><p><br/>“ <em> No, </em> ” Wilbur said, voice firm. Tommy looked taken aback. “It’s not that I don’t trust you, Tommy, but if I come with backup, Dream will too. And they can set up traps, easily take us out and steal all our stuff. If I show up alone, unarmed, and they do get the jump on me, at least the rest of you are fine.” <br/><br/>Tommy looked down. Wilbur sighed, taking a step forward and putting a hand on Tommy’s shoulder. <br/><br/>“If what Tubbo is saying is true,” Wilbur said. “Then just <em> trust </em> me.” <br/><br/>Tommy looked up. He nodded. <br/><br/>“Fine. I trust you.” <br/><br/>Wilbur smiled. “Good.” <br/><br/>Wilbur looked back at Eret. “Tomorrow night. Tell Dream to meet me by the embassy. Near the tower. Just us, alone.” <br/><br/>Tubbo wasn’t sure about this. He really wasn’t. He shot Eret an unsure look. <br/><br/>Eret didn’t look too certain, either. <br/><br/>Wilbur’s eyes narrowed. <br/><br/>“That’s an order, Eret.” Wilbur’s voice was snappy and cold. It made Tubbo think of last night. <br/><br/>Eret grit his teeth. <br/><br/>“Yes sir.”</p><p> </p><p>“Now leave me,” Wilbur said. He lets go of Tommy’s shoulder. “I need to spend some time thinking over things.”<br/><br/>Tubbo really really wasn’t sure about this. He gives Fundy a glance, before stepping out of the van. </p><p> </p><p>Wilbur must know what he’s doing, right? If Wilbur does, then Tubbo will trust him.</p><p> </p><p>Wilbur was a leader, after all.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I'm not super happy about this chapter honestly, I think it feels a bit rushed, but I hope you all still enjoy! Not as dramatic as the previous chapters are, but I'm pretty excited about the future chapters :) Thanks to all who commented in previous chapters, it means a lot!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. interlude ii</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>he wakes up.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Wilbur did not wake up in cold sweat.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Instead, his eyes fluttered open as sunlight shone in through the windows. He could hear the sounds of birds chirping. He sat up, unsure of where he was. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The walls were made of wood, with glass panes haphazardly placed on them to serve as windows. He doesn’t recognize this place. It wasn’t in L’manberg, obviously, or if it was it hadn’t been there before. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He tries to remember what happened. All he remembers was collapsing in pain, and then… he blacked out. But he didn’t feel pain now. He felt well rested, actually. It’s… been a while since he’s had a good night’s sleep. It was rather difficult nowadays, what with Dream and the war.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The war. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Fuck.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur stood up, nearly tripping. Wilbur’s mind ran through all the possibilities—had he been captured? Did they attack while Wilbur had been incapacitated?—his heart was beating against his chest, his heartbeat pounding in his ears. He needed to get out of here. Now. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wherever here was. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur reached for his weapon, before freezing. What… what was he wearing?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Did they strip me of my uniform…?” He mumbled, looking down at his outfit. Tattered cloak, dirty shirt… were they trying to demean him? Was this a psychological play? Wilbur wouldn’t put it past Dream—the man played dirty. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The door swung open, and Wilbur tensed, raising up his fists on instinct. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, you’re awake,” Techno said. “You were out for a while.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur froze.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Techno took off his coat and threw it on the bed. He dropped down a satchel, and it hit the ground with a loud thud. He walked over to the bed and sat down, looking up at Wilbur. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The man looked tired. Wilbur could always tell, despite the mask on Techno’s face. But that was always the thing with Techno. A sort of exhaustion always seemed to weigh on his shoulders, the burden of a victor who danced with death far too much but never fell into its embrace. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur didn’t understand it at first. But with this war—he’s beginning to. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur lowered his hands. “...Techno?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That’s my name, don’t wear it out.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Witty as always. Technoblade leaned against the wall, taking off his mask and tossing it aside. It clatters on the wooden floor. Technoblade’s eyes—dark and piercing, it reminds Wilbur of how inhuman Techno really was—stare at Wilbur. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What… what are you doing here?” Wilbur asked.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Techno frowned. “What do you mean? I took care of you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, you’re not… you’re not in the SMP, are you?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“If I wasn’t, I wouldn’t be here,” Techno said. He frowned. “You doing okay, Will? Did you hit your head or something?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No… at least, I don’t think so.” Wilbur said, sounding unsure. Maybe he did? The last thing Wilbur remembered was an ear-splitting screech tearing through his throat and </span>
  <em>
    <span>agony—</span>
  </em>
  <span>“What happened?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What do you remember?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’s afraid of the implications of that question. He looked at Technoblade with a frown. “Eret. He said he was going to show me something.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” Techno said as if considering something. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Nothing. Keep talking.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur felt dread rise up in him. “We had won a battle, and we were heading back to L’manberg.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Technoblade didn’t speak for a moment, instead looking at Wilbur before darting his eyes down. He lifted a thumb up and bit on it as he contemplated, eyes looking back up at Wilbur for a moment. Wilbur didn’t like this. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He didn’t like where this was going.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Wilbur,” Techno said, finally looking at Wilbur properly. “I think you might have amnesia.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur stared at Techno.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He felt like he was going to be sick.</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>This was an unfortunate setback. </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Technoblade put his sword back in its sheath, squinting as he stared up at the sun. Judging from where it was in the sky, he figured it was late afternoon. Wilbur had taken time to process. Techno hadn’t told Wilbur a lot. It wouldn’t be good to overwhelm Wilbur. Stressing out the only man who was on his side didn’t seem like a good move.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur followed Techno outside. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do I tear this place down?” Wilbur asked, holding an axe and gesturing to the makeshift shack that Techno had built. Techno had given him the axe earlier, said Wilbur at least needed a weapon. Wilbur didn’t look like he had anything on him, which was weird, considering Techno knew that Wilbur liked to carry a sword as of late. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Eh,” Techno said. “Your call.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur nodded. Techno climbed on his horse, offering Wilbur a hand.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Nice farm,” Wilbur commented, taking Techno’s hand and sitting on the saddle behind Techno. He glanced at the farm outside of Techno’s stables. “You really like farming, huh?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Once you develop habits, they’re pretty hard to break,” Techno said, shrugging. He pushed his hips forward on the saddle and lifted the reins up and forward. The horse began to run. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He wasn’t sure where to take Wilbur, really. Pogtopia seemed like the best bet, considering that was where most of their allies were, but Techno’s mishap at the festival made them distrust him. And strategically speaking, it would be more disadvantageous for Techno to reveal to the rest of their group that Wilbur’s ability to lead had been compromised. Not that that really means anything when Wilbur was insane a good fraction of the time. Regardless, they’d just fall into a panic. Or worse, intervene with their plans when Wilbur could do nothing to stop them.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was better they stayed on their toes. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Besides, Techno had already arranged something else.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Where are we going?” Wilbur asked.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Not sure,” Techno admitted.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Thought you were taking me to—what was it called again? Poglantis?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Pogtopia,” Techno corrected. “And I’m not sure if I should take you there. You being an amnesiac might mess with the dynamic.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Not to mention Wilbur at the moment might not understand what they were doing, really. There was a different sort of clarity in Wilbur’s eyes at the moment, the sort of clarity Techno hadn’t seen in a while. When Techno arrived months ago, arriving at Pogtopia’s dirt entrance at Tommy’s request, Wilbur’s eyes had dulled, hopelessness weighing down on the former general’s shoulders. When Techno had returned from a mining trip, Tommy mentioned something about a festival, the dullness in Wilbur’s was gone, and for a moment Techno had believed Wilbur had gotten his spark back, but then he saw the vivid madness in Wilbur’s eyes, a sort of clarity reminiscent of shattered glass. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Right,” Wilbur said. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The clarity in Wilbur’s eyes now was different. His eyes lacked chaos, lacked frenzy—he was calm, and yet Techno could still see a fire burning in them, a determination that Techno had never quite seen on Wilbur before but was all too familiar with—the resolve of purpose. He wonders if that was why Wilbur had done a sudden switch. The fire in Wilbur’s soul that had been ignited by L’manberg had been warped into something else, into a roaring blaze of mayhem.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He wondered what it would have been like to have fought in the original war. Maybe things would have been different, if Techno had arrived earlier. Maybe.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But there was no use in dwelling on what-ifs. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Techno pulled on the reins, the horse letting out a neigh as it drew to a stop. Techno hopped off first, taking the lead and tying it to a nearby post. Wilbur followed him down. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Where are we?” Wilbur asked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Pogtopia,” Techno said. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I thought you said you weren’t taking me here.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Never said I wasn’t. Just said I wasn’t sure. But I went through the options—Manberg will have your head, and the rest of the SMP would be glad to serve you to Schlatt for the right price.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“...you’re really going to have to explain that to me,” Wilbur said. “You still haven’t.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“One step at a time, Wilbur. You just gotta get used to the new rules here.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So why are we here?” Wilbur asked.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Just making a pit stop before we head to our real destination,” Techno said. “And I do need to drop off some supplies for Tommy. He’s upset with me, so it’s the least I can do.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He dug out the entrance to Pogtopia. Wilbur followed him inside as Techno climbed down the stone steps and headed into the ravine.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Whoa,” Wilbur said, marvelling at the sight. “This is Pogtopia?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Techno shrugged, heading to the chests at the center of the ravine. He put some coal in the furnace and began to cook some meat he had gotten earlier, and left a few other crafting supplies in the chest for the rest of Pogtopia to use if they so wished. He had more things in his base, but he’ll give it to them when the time comes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Techno glanced behind him. Wilbur looked absolutely amazed by the ravine. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I should have found out about this place sooner,” Wilbur said. “It would have been useful in the war. To have an underground base hidden in plain sight? That’s—that’s incredible.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Techno frowned. “It’s not that special. You and Tommy just repurposed a ravine.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What?” Wilbur asked. “It’s brilliant, is what it is.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re giving yourself way too much credit,” Techno said, taking out the steaks from the furnace and tossing them into the wooden chest. “When I first got here you told me this place felt claustrophobic, that the walls felt like they were closing in on you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I… I can see how I saw it that way,” Wilbur said. “But you know I don’t remember that.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I know,” Techno said. Wilbur wasn’t overly enthusiastic (which Wilbur tended to be as of late, laughing about destruction and the littlest things), but he was certainly a bit more naive than Techno had initially believed. A little too trusting. “You know, you really took this in stride, Wilbur.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What do you mean?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You just trusted me immediately,” Techno said. “For all you know, I could be lying to you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur frowned. “Of course I trust you. You haven’t lied, have you?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“If omission counts,” Techno said. “Then yeah. But I’ve been upfront about that.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur nodded. “And I understand. I trust that whatever you’re keeping from me—you’re doing it for a reason.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You trust too easily,” Techno said. “What if that reason was bad?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re my brother. It may be… morally dubious, sure, but I don’t think you ever do things out of malice, Technoblade.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Techno pursed his lips. This was going to be an issue. Not that he wanted Wilbur to be a paranoid wreck, but he wanted some caution from Wilbur, at least. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And if I told you we were going to meet Dream?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Now </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> made Wilbur pause.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I—what?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You heard me,” Techno said. “I hate to say it, but he’s the only one who we can really trust on this, Will.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Dream?”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Wilbur asked in disbelief. It was the first instance of frustration Techno has heard from Wilbur ever since the man woke up, and Techno was almost relieved by it. “Why in the bloody hell would we ever ask help from that green bastard? He—he’s the reason why we even formed L’manberg in the first place! He hates us—hates me!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I hate to break it to you, Wilbur, but that’s not entirely true,” Techno said. “Look, just trust me. You said you trusted me, right?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Techno hated to resort to the trust card. It felt backhanded. It felt manipulative. Techno was never for that. He was for action. Wilbur wasn’t above that, though. Neither was Dream. It was probably why they got along so easily as of late. Maybe Dream could actually stand Wilbur’s maddened rambles in a way Techno never could.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur was quiet for a moment. “...I do.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Then believe me when I say that this might be our only option.” There was also the option of Techno hiding Wilbur away until Wilbur regained his memory, but Techno wasn’t sure how long that would take. Besides, as unpredictable as Dream was, Dream wanted the same thing Wilbur and Techno did. He wouldn’t tell Schlatt about this, because it wouldn’t benefit Dream to do so. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur nodded. “Alright. I trust you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur really shouldn’t.</span>
</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Sorry for taking so long to update! The finale got me BAD and I couldn’t write for a while, haha. The finale’s given me a few more ideas for this fic, too, especially character wise! I do hope you guys enjoyed this update (it’s barely edited).</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. dealmaker</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>dealing with the devil.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Dream looked out into the horizon. It’d be nightfall soon. Nearly time for this little meeting Wilbur had arranged. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Luckily, Eret had been the one to deal with Dream about this. It made it easier to deal with the specifics. By the Power Tower, Wilbur had said. At sunset. Dream hadn’t seen the general since the battle days ago, but Eret had said that when Wilbur returned he was insistent on having this meeting.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>From underneath his mask, Dream had to suppress a laugh. It was futile, really, this whole affair—Dream would win regardless of the outcome. It was only a matter of time before L’manberg lost, so why did Wilbur keep trying? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What are you laughing about?” George asked from beside him. Dream glanced over to his companion. Ah, George. Hopelessly naive, and a bit dimwitted, but he was loyal to a fault, and that was something Dream valued in his men. Maybe that was why he wordlessly chose George to be his right hand, because it was easy to control him, unlike Sapnap, who was rash and unpredictable and </span>
  <em>
    <span>ambitious. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ambition was only useful when it furthered Dream’s own goals. He had no use for men who thought they could be better than him. Men who thought they could destroy him. Men like Wilbur, like Tommy. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“George,” Dream said. “What do you think of L’manberg?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“They’re people who decided to disrupt the peace by claiming authority over what’s yours,” George said, his answer almost automatic. “Right?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I asked what you think. Not what </span>
  <em>
    <span>I </span>
  </em>
  <span>think.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It wasn’t like Dream didn’t care for opinions. He did. He liked to see how people ticked, liked to see them cling to their meaningless beliefs before he crushed that, tearing apart worlds and lives with his plans. Opinions, thoughts, ideals—they were fun. It made everything much more interesting.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well,” George said, and Dream frowned at the man’s hesitance. It was as if George was afraid of saying what he truly thought, as if one wrong move and Dream would cast him aside. That wasn’t entirely baseless, but Dream was asking for a reason. He valued George’s opinion far more than anyone else’s. Maybe that was a weakness. But he doesn’t really think so. “I think that they might just be afraid.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Of what?” Dream asked, scoffing. “We were fine before they got here and started to poison people’s minds with the idea of freedom. We only attacked because they started this.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“To be fair, this place isn’t exactly… free from violence, you know?” George said. “Maybe they wanted a place away from that. I’m not saying what they’re doing is right—there’s more bloodshed now than before, but surely they must think what they’re doing is right. If they didn’t, they wouldn’t be doing this.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dream nods. That was understandable. But understandable did not mean Dream would allow this insurrection to slide. As interesting as this war has been, as entertaining as it was to bring his heel down this pointless rebellion, it was beginning to get infuriating. He just wanted victory. The longer this takes, the more it feels like he was getting cornered into a stalemate with a faction that shouldn’t have existed for longer than a day. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Thank you, George,” Dream said. He glanced back at the sky. “Really. I mean that.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Looks like it’s nearly sunset,” George said. “Are you really sure you don’t want backup?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He couldn’t touch me if he even wanted to,” Dream said. “Besides, Eret said he was coming completely unarmed.” He laughed. “He’s either idealistic or stupid, but I’d place my money on the latter.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Still,” George said, and he sounded worried, so concerned, and it made Dream almost laugh, because hadn’t George learned by now that Dream was untouchable? “Be careful.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I will,” Dream said, if only to appease him. George turned and headed to the exit, placing a hand by the entrance and turning his head back towards Dream for a moment before leaving. George’s concern was almost adorable, in a way. That concern was misplaced. At least Sapnap understood where he stood with Dream. George actually thought Dream cared. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dream glanced back outside. The sun was setting.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Dream.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dream turned around, and there Wilbur stood, wearing that ridiculous uniform. Right, this tower had an underground passageway, Wilbur must have taken it. Still, he didn’t like being taken off guard. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Wilbur,” Dream said. “You’re late.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, I’m just on time,” Wilbur said. Wilbur was armorless and didn’t seem to be wielding a weapon, but he could be hiding an enchanted weapon for all Dream knew. It was hard to see Wilbur’s expression from where Dream was standing, and before Dream could get a clearer look Wilbur turned and started to walk. Wilbur glanced behind him. “Are you coming?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Straight to business, I see,” Dream said, but he followed anyway. “No time for pleasantries?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur laughed. “We’ll have more than enough time to engage in small talk.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He led them both to a room. Like the tower before, the walls were made of blackstone, with soul lanterns hanging from the ceiling. They lit the room up in a dim blue glow. There was a conference table made of nether planks at the center, surrounded by wooden chairs. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You know,” Dream started. “You must be getting desperate if you’re willing to meet with me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Au contraire, Dream,” Wilbur said, full of confidence, and gestured to the chairs. “Take a seat.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dream didn’t believe that. The man was surely putting up a front, but Dream knew how this was going to go down. Dream had all the cards. At the end of tonight, he’d win, and L’manberg—well, it’d be remembered as a footnote in history. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dream sat down on the nearest one, and once Dream was seated, Wilbur moved to take his own chair. He sat across from Dream, and at this distance Dream could finally get a good look at the man.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How has your day been, Dream?” Wilbur asked, his expression almost genuine, but Dream knew better. This was all just an act, a ploy, before Wilbur got to the point. Dream’s own expression betrayed him, his mouth twitching in annoyance, which made Dream grateful for the mask. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Pretty good,” Dream said, leaning back on the chair and looking up at the ceiling. He really did not care to be here, but he’d play along, just until they could get to negotiating L’manberg’s surrender. “Spent some time training, hunting—the usual.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dream’s voice was easygoing, casual, but it had a hint of sarcasm. The answer was generic, and he knew that Wilbur knew this—the question was clearly aiming to know something, to try to get a read on Dream. Not gonna happen.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur just laughed. “You’ll have to excuse my questioning. I’m a bit curious as to what the mighty Dream does in his spare time, after all. But maybe that’s what you want, right? The intrigue makes you seem so far from us mortals, us plebeians, if you will—knowing what you’re like humanizes you. And that’s not good, especially when you like to rule in fear.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dream frowned from behind his mask. “Is there a point to this?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Of course,” Wilbur said. “Would have I invited you here if there wasn’t?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You could have just called this meeting to distract me while your allies attack mine,” Dream pointed out. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know whether to be offended that you’d assume I’d stoop to such dirty tactics or be flattered that you think I can filibuster for that long,” Wilbur said. “But I think we both know that I don’t plan on doing that.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dream raised a brow. “What do you mean?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur laughed, leaning back, his eyes lazily staring Dream down. Something… something was wrong. Gone was the tenseness on Wilbur’s shoulders when he faced Dream, gone was the terror that Dream knew was instilled in the man from their conflicts. Dream frowned. That was worrying. It didn’t scare Dream, but it meant the man might have something up his sleeve. Does he—?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, we both know what I’m talking about, green boy,” Wilbur said, the smile not leaving his face. He looks amused.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dream didn’t like that. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was supposed to be holding the cards here, not Wilbur.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Just spit it out, Wilbur. I don’t have time for this.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur laughs again. Dream’s eye twitched. He hated that. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You have a spy in my ranks,” Wilbur said lightly, as if he didn’t just admit to knowing Dream’s trump card. Dream narrowed his eyes. “And I’m not scolding you on this—that’s smart. You’re a smart man. But that’s not the point here, Dream, nor is the TNT you’ve got Eret to lay underneath L’manberg. None of that matters.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I think it matters when you’ve told me you’re aware of my plans,” Dream said. Eret must have told Wilbur, then. Of course. But what could he expect, then? Never trust a traitor—Eret must switch sides far too easily. However… “Why tell me, then? To gloat? This war is far from over, you must know that.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, no,” Wilbur said, waving his hand dismissively. “I simply wanted to be transparent with you. Surely you appreciate honesty? It’s an honorable quality.” He laughs, as if he just told a joke. “Honor. That means nothing to you, doesn’t it?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And if it does?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, we both know it doesn’t. And besides, I’m quite certain you’d rather not have to follow through with your arrangement with Eret. Really, I’m doing you a favor.” Wilbur held his hands together and leaned forward. “I’ll cut to the chase. I’d like to offer you a deal.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You act like you hold all the cards. Actually, no, like you hold any cards at all. Any advantage you might have had—you’d already admitted it to me. All there’s left to do is sign away your surrender. </span>
  <em>
    <span>That’s </span>
  </em>
  <span>the deal we’re going to have, Wilbur. Don’t fool yourself.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur laughed. That again. What was so funny?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Just hear me out, Dream. You might be interested in what I have to say.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I really doubt it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh come on now Dream. Would it really kill you to entertain me? You’re above me, after all. I stand no chance against you. If you listen, you don’t lose anything.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“My time,” Dream said. “You’d be wasting my time.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Though he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t the slightest bit curious. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“But fine,” Dream said. “I’ll bite.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Under the glow of the lanterns, shadows fall on Wilbur’s face. “You know, Dream, when it comes to it, we both just want the same thing.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dream raised a brow from behind the mask. “And that is?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur grinned, and his eyes stared down at Dream. “Power.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Now </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> was interesting.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>At Dream’s silence, Wilbur continued. “Didn’t expect me to admit that, did you?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“If I’ll be honest, no,” Dream said. “I didn’t.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur laughed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, it’s true, innit?” Wilbur said. “At the end of the day, this is a stance against </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span>. You’re the authority here, and standing against you is an attempt to take that power from you. No amount of poetic words and talks about liberty will change that.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>This was certainly… different than Dream expected. From his limited interaction with the man, he’s known Wilbur to be a leader who was steadfast in his beliefs. Stubborn, but calm—Dream almost respected that. A man of honor. But here he was now, laughing, almost mocking the idea of that. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur stares down at Dream, smile never wavering from his face. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I understand we’re outnumbered, Dream. But even if you win this war, you still lose something. Something </span>
  <em>
    <span>I </span>
  </em>
  <span>have taken from you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The smile widens, and if Dream had been anyone else, he would have felt a shiver run down his spine. For a moment, Dream entertains the idea that perhaps this was the </span>
  <em>
    <span>true </span>
  </em>
  <span>Wilbur Soot.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And that is?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You may take this land,” Wilbur said. “You’ll rule in fear, but I have their respect. We’re all just actors on a stage, Dream, playing the parts we wrote ourselves. I’ve made you out to be the villain. You don’t want that, do you? I’ve taken something you can’t get back—not without me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You act as if I care what people think of me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur chuckles. “Oh, I don’t doubt that you don’t. But I have their hearts, and no matter how many times you beat them down, they’ll keep fighting for the ideals </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’ve </span>
  </em>
  <span>given them. And I think that’s a little inconvenient for you, don’t you think?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So what are you saying?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Surely, it must get boring, being the bad guy.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I will admit,” Dream said, allowing himself to relax. They were far more similar than he thought. “That it does get taxing, having to put in the effort to reinforce my authority.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Then give us independence,” Wilbur said. “You have your land and I have their hearts—take the offer and you’ll have both. Doesn’t that sound nice?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It does sound tempting.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur offered a hand. “So, do we have a deal?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dream expected a man of virtue, of honor. Instead, he found himself face to face with a man with a sly grin and mischief in his eyes. From under his mask, Dream grins. Oh, this was shaping up to be far more interesting than he expected.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dream shook Wilbur’s hand.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I think,” Dream said. “This will be the start of a wonderful partnership.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>This is actually the scene I’ve imagined when I first thought of this fic idea. I’m not entirely happy with the execution of this chapter, but I will confess that I am far too critical of my own writing (which is probably because I’m a writing major) so that’s kind of keeping me from being truly happy with this chapter. However, I hope you all still enjoy! Everyone’s comments have really been fueling me so thank you all for the kind words &lt;3 I haven’t been catching up to the post-finale streams though, so if anything happens there that contradicts some of the characterizations here, I do apologize. This chapter also marks where I think the plot of this fic truly starts, haha, I’m very excited to write the rest of this. Thank you for reading!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. decree</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>tommy thinks.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It was quiet. Tommy watched as the sun set on the horizon. He stood on the walls, hand resting against the black and yellow parapets. Wilbur had left moments ago. Tommy wanted to talk to him before he left, just offer a little piece of advice, just a “good luck” before sending the man on his way, but Tommy didn’t get the chance to.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tommy sighed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I hope you know what you’re doing, Wilbur,” Tommy muttered, sitting down, letting his feet dangle off the edge. Which was a little bit precarious, but in this world deaths came easy and the repercussions were never too awful, so he should be fine. Mostly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He stared back up at the sky. Orange and purple faded together as clouds floated past the landscape. Falling from the ledge shouldn’t be deemed as significant to the gods up above, now would it? Tommy doesn’t think so. If it were and Tommy died here and now, that would simply be fucking embarrassing. Losing a life to falling—Wilbur would never let him hear the end of it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Dying was fine</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Wilbur told him once, years ago, before Tommy packed up his things and left home. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Up until it isn't and you become all too aware of the finiteness of your existence.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The words were said with a sort of weariness, but the topic shifted and Wilbur suddenly smiled and his eyes brightened, and Tommy couldn’t bring it in him to ask.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tommy wonders what happened. Phil never told him. Neither did Technoblade.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tommy tensed and turned around, relaxing when he saw it was only Tubbo. Tubbo took a seat beside him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You doing okay?” Tubbo asked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Just worried, is all.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tubbo nodded, glancing at Tommy before turning his head to look down at the land outside the walls. “That’s understandable. But I trust he knows what he’s doing.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I know. I know he does. He’s not stupid. But that’s the thing, right? Sometimes he just—he thinks too much and he takes up too much shit and it weighs on him, and he forgets other people are here to help carry the weight too.” He clenched his jaw, staring down at the land below them. “It’s just fuckin’ frustrating, man.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Are you going to stop him?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tommy sighed. “No. I’m not. I trust him. But it doesn’t make me any less upset. I just—we’re here to fight </span>
  <em>
    <span>with </span>
  </em>
  <span>him. He’s not alone in this.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He’s always been like that though,” Tubbo said. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Doesn’t mean I like it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That’s fine,” Tubbo said, looking up at the sky. The sky was beginning to grow dark. “I’m not saying you’re not allowed to feel that way. I’m worried too. But we need to have faith in him. He’s a leader, Tommy. He makes these decisions so we don’t have to.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tommy nodded. He knows that. He’s not stupid. But it’s so hard to accept it. He groaned. “God, Wilbur—why do you have to be so fucking stubborn!” He said, pulling at his hair and throwing his head back. “I wish he’d just trust me enough to tell me what’s going on and stop treating me like a kid!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tubbo doesn’t respond. Tommy could already tell what Tubbo was thinking. Every little thing Wilbur thought about Tommy, Tommy knew that Tubbo agreed with it. That he was irrational. Too loud. Too harsh. And Tommy knew that. And he knows Tubbo doesn’t mean anything by it, that Tubbo still has faith in Tommy, but it hurt, still, to know that Tubbo didn’t even try to disagree. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m his right hand man.” Tommy lifted a leg up from the ledge and pulled his knee closer to his chest. “I just wish he’d act like I am.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was trying. He really was. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tommy sighed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tubbo glanced at him, but Tommy didn’t meet his eyes. He was just glad for the company. Wilbur should be back in a few hours. And if he wasn’t… well, that was a problem they’d have to solve when it came to it.</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Wilbur came back in the early morning, before the sun came up. He had sent them all a message, declaring that he has news. </p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>WilburSoot: Meet me at the camarvan. I have news.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Everyone grouped together, waiting nervously for Wilbur’s return. He was glad that Wilbur was safe, of course—unless his communicator got compromised, which was next to impossible, considering they were tethered to the user—but Tommy’s own heart was beating against his chest, pounding ringing in his ears. He was nervous, of course, but he’d never admit it. His hands felt clammy. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You okay?” Tubbo asked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Tommy said, an obvious lie, but thankfully Tubbo didn’t call him out on it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eret was waiting at the front of the van, standing by the open door to wait. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He there yet?” Tommy asked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eret glanced at Tommy. He shook his head.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Not yet.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Fundy sat on the van’s driver’s seat. The camarvan didn’t exactly work—it was more of a decorative thing than anything else. The fox’s tail was tucked behind him, his ears down. He looked just as nervous as the rest of them.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do you think his talk with Dream went well?” Tubbo asked.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Knowing Dream? Probably not,” Fundy said. “But you never know with Wilbur… man’s got a silver tongue.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do you trust him?” Eret asked. He didn’t turn to look at them.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tommy frowned. “Of course.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re not the slightest bit worried?” Eret continued.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Where are you going with this?” Tommy asked. “Of course we’re worried. But we have faith in him. He’s our leader. We just have to trust him.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“...right.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eret’s words were rubbing him off the wrong way. It wasn’t blind faith—Tommy had questioned Wilbur’s actions, but at the end of the day, Tommy stood by Wilbur decision’s because he trusts Wilbur—he trusts his </span>
  <em>
    <span>brother. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eret turned and walked over to the main room in the camarvan, with the brewing stands and wooden meeting table. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’ll be fine. He has a plan, Eret,” Tubbo said. “Even if we aren’t privy to that plan, surely he must have one. We followed Wilbur for a reason. He won’t disappoint us.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Fundy nods at that. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m not saying he will,” Eret said. “I’m just a bit skeptical, is all.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tommy scoffed. “You’re just mad you didn’t get to meet up with Dream, that Wilbur stole your thunder.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m not mad.” Eret’s brows furrowed. Oh, he did </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>like that. Tommy smirked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tubbo looked over at Tommy. Tommy ignored the scolding look on his best friend’s face. This was what Tommy was good at. Digging into other people’s skin, picking a fight—it’s what he was made for. And with the nervous energy running through him, Tommy needed an outlet. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Besides, he was already plenty pissed off at Eret. Eret deserved to be put down a peg. He wasn’t Wilbur’s right hand man, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Tommy </span>
  </em>
  <span>was.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Man, you’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>jealous, </span>
  </em>
  <span>aren’t you?” Tommy asked, almost disbelievingly. “No wonder you’ve been acting off before the meeting. You couldn’t even look Wilbur in the eye. What, can’t accept that I’m right?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Tommy,” Eret said, voice low. From behind those shades, Tommy was certain Eret was giving him a dirty look. “I don’t have time for your games.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Wow, did that get to you, Eret?” Tommy asked. “You’re over here making us question if we should trust Wilbur, but I’m pretty sure I’m right, and you’re just jealous.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Tommy,” Tubbo cut in, tugging at Tommy’s coat. “Stop. You’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>both </span>
  </em>
  <span>right, just—“</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Tubbo, I know you don’t like conflict, but I know I’m right,” Tommy said, stubborn. He turned back to Eret. Eret clenched his fist, lips set into a deep frown. Good. “Even he knows. That’s why he’s not saying anything.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Tommy, shut </span>
  <em>
    <span>up</span>
  </em>
  <span>!” Eret hissed, and it’s the angriest Tommy’s ever seen the man. Eret was always calm, rational, almost gentle. It was unlike Wilbur’s own tired calmness, Eret’s was a rationality free of experience, free of the echoes of deaths long past. “You’re not even right. You’re just picking fights because you’re bored.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What, you wanna go, big man?” Tommy asked, drawing a sword. He grinned. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m not going to fight you, Tommy,” Eret said, letting out a frustrated sigh. “You’re being stupid.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Or you’re just a fucking coward,” Tommy said. Eret looked pissed off. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Tommy—!” Eret said. “Just stop, I’m not going to give in to you! You’re just—you’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>acting like a child!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tommy froze. The grin fell off his face, and he felt his hands go cold.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Take that back,” Tommy growled, pointing the sword in Eret’s direction. The rush of adrenaline from trying to anger Eret had turned into fuel, fuel for his anger to burn through. The anger was just underneath his fingertips, and Tommy fought to keep it down, but it was so easy to be mad, but he didn’t want to prove Eret right, </span>
  <em>
    <span>he’s not a child.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Not until you stop acting like it,” Eret said. Eret was the image of calmness, and he was probably enjoying this, enjoying the fact that Tommy was pissed off, and Tommy had to fight the urge to run the sword through Eret’s chest. Killing him now would be fine. Eret would just respawn. Wilbur probably wouldn’t mind.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What the </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck </span>
  </em>
  <span>is going on here?” Wilbur’s voice rang through the van, the sound of his boots meeting the floor loud and heavy. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tommy tensed, not wanting to turn and look at Wilbur.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He was trying to say we shouldn’t trust you,” Tommy said. “And then he had the audacity to call me a kid! I’m just defending your honor, Wilbur, you—“</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur pulled Tommy aside, forcing Tommy to look at him dead in the eye. Wilbur looked furious. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do not need you to fight my battles,” Wilbur said sternly. He glanced at Eret. “And you—apologize to Tommy.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why?” Eret said.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Just do it Eret, for god’s sake, I don’t have time to mediate each one of Tommy’s petty squabbles.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Fine,” Eret said. “Tommy, I’m sorry that you can’t shut your mouth.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You—!” Tommy said, beginning to go at Eret, but Wilbur pulled him back.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That’s not an apology, Eret,” Wilbur said, irritated. “But whatever, we have better things to discuss. Both of you, settle this later. I can’t have my men arguing when I’m not here.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tommy pulled his arm from Wilbur’s grip, shooting a dirty look at the general before resting his glare at Eret. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Everyone,” Wilbur said, setting down his hands on the wooden table. “Ignoring what just transpired, I have news to tell you all.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tommy made his way over to the side of the room, crossing his arms. He kept his gaze on Eret. Tubbo stood at the side of the table beside Fundy, and Eret leaned against the opposite wall. Eret was avoiding Tommy’s look.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur cleared his throat, and Tommy tore his gaze away from Eret. The nervousness from earlier kicked back in, and Tommy could feel nausea rise up in his chest.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They all looked at Wilbur in anticipation. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur took out a book from inside his coat, raising it up for everyone to see. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I have in my hand a treaty the details of which me and Dream settled on earlier tonight,” Wilbur said. “A peace treaty.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What?” Tommy said, raising his brows. The others seemed to have echoed this shock, but Tommy let Wilbur continue before asking more. Tommy felt dread—did Wilbur surrender? No, Tommy reasoned. He wouldn’t have. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“In this document that Dream signed, it details the terms of this treaty.” Wilbur opened the book and threw it on the table. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Everyone looked down at the page the book was on.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The Decree of Independance</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I, Dream, as the representative of the SMP, hereby acknowledge the nation of L’manberg, under Wilbur Soot, to be a separate independent nation from the rest of the Dream SMP. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Signed,</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Dream</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Wilbur Soot</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tommy looked back up.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Gentlemen,” Wilbur said with a wide smile. “We </span>
  <em>
    <span>won.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Holy shit,” Tommy said. He looked around. Everyone else had looks of shock on their faces. Tommy had practically forgotten the nervousness that had weighed down at him earlier, now replaced with this feeling of, no, this can’t be real, but it is and holy fucking shit </span>
  <em>
    <span>Wilbur did it—</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tommy grinned, picking up the book and letting out a cry. “We fucking won!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’d almost forgotten that he doubted Wilbur for the briefest of moments earlier. This is why he trusted Wilbur. Wilbur always knew what to do.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Everyone cheered, Tubbo raising his fist in the air, letting out a laugh, tears of relief running down his face. Fundy was grinning, Wilbur was too—they won.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tommy glanced at Eret. Eret was smiling too.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Amidst the happiness, Tommy felt like there was something off with Eret’s smile, that it looked almost guilty, but Tommy was stubborn, and he chalked it up to Eret wishing he held more of a role in this tale, that Eret was just bitter he wasn’t right.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tommy looked back at Wilbur. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You did it, big man,” Tommy said, relief washing over him in waves. “You’re a hero.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I know,” Wilbur said, closing his eyes, and Tommy could see that the tension that had weighed down on Wilbur for so long had finally lifted. His smile was wide, and he put a hand on Tommy’s shoulder. “I did it.”</span>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>This chapter isn’t edited so forgive me for any mistakes! I think I need to mention this fic is going to start getting wildly inconsistent because I can’t backread and have shit memory. I don’t know how I feel about this chapter, honestly—I think I could have done better, but I dunno. There’s a bunch of things I wanted to show more, but I decided to be a bit more subtle so I can bring up these things later. (Fun fact, this chapter was supposed to be longer, but I decided to put the events I was going to write in a later chapter). I hope you all still enjoy it, though! Once again, thank you for reading!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. interlude iii</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>dealmaking ii</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The Nether was not a friendly place, Wilbur thinks, stepping out of the portal and into the red expanse. It was red, far too red, and heat surrounded him from all sides, almost suffocatingly so. It reminds him of long ago, with lava rising and wicked laughter, and he shakes off that thought as soon as it comes to mind. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sometimes Wilbur wondered if this place was Hell. Certainly looked the part, and in all the books he’s collected over the years, it might as well have been, with its terrifying monsters and endless fire. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The place was useful, though. Made it easier to travel, what with the travel network that had been established here. It made the Nether seem less hostile, at times. Made it feel less like a dangerous realm of lava and destruction and made it feel like a structure of the everyday. But Wilbur didn’t travel here a lot, not like the others, who sought to travel in the Nether for its riches. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur didn’t like the heat. He preferred the Overworld, preferred the blue skies and open air, preferred the infiniteness that the world offered. He looked up at the netherrack roof, feeling almost as if this realm was closing in on them. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Technoblade looked back at Wilbur. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You sure are taking your time,” Techno said. “You wanna maybe hurry up?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur blinked, turning his head to Technoblade. “Ah—sorry. I just… haven’t been here in a while. It’s hard to get used to, I suppose, despite the fact I’ve been here so many times.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Techno just stared at Wilbur for a moment from behind the mask, before turning his head away and heading onward. “Just keep up.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur nodded, jogging into a half-sprint to keep up with Technoblade’s pace. These boots still felt foreign to him. They felt too loose, too rough, like old shoes thrown out that he had found. The rest of the outfit felt the same. His coat was heavy, gloves looked worn, and it felt uncomfortable. What happened to his uniform? Surely he wouldn't have just gotten rid of it, right?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He slowed down as he reached Technoblade’s side. “Not that I don’t trust you,” Wilbur said. “But can you at least fill me in on the Dream situation?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Techno glanced at him. Wilbur frowned.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Truthfully, Wilbur understood Techno’s hesitance. He understood this unwillingness to give information. It wasn’t something done due to Wilbur’s untrustworthiness, but rather it was a calculated decision on Technoblade’s part. Techno understood the situation far more than Wilbur did, so Wilbur would trust him to hold the cards. Wilbur did the same thing, keeping his men at arm’s length and saying just enough to keep them from questioning his orders. Maybe it was something they both picked up from Phil. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Still, it’d be nice to know more than nothing.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ll take it well, I promise.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Techno didn’t say anything for a long while. “...fine,” He said. “What do you wanna know?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Whatever you’re willing to tell me,” Wilbur said. “Like I said, I trust you know what you’re doing.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Techno regarded him for a long moment, his dark eyes looking at Wilbur with an analytic gaze. It made Wilbur almost uncomfortable, especially with the red glow of lava highlighting Techno’s mask. He wondered what Techno was thinking. He knew Technoblade didn’t want to tell him for a reason, but there was a part of him that tugged at his chest, a part of him that felt dread. Did he even want to know?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I wasn’t here for it,” Techno said. “But after the war, you held an election.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur blinked. He didn’t expect an answer, if he were being honest. “Right, you mentioned that before. I still can’t believe we actually won, really, but I still don’t understand what an election has to do with my apparent exile.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m getting to that,” Techno said. “You didn’t win. Schlatt did.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur froze. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Disbelief laced his tone. Why would Schlatt do that? They were friends. Well, mostly. And how did Schlatt even get here?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He decided to kick you and Tommy outta L’manberg, then subsequently renamed the country to Manberg,” Technoblade said. “That’s where I come in. Heard trouble was knockin’ on your door, so I packed up and came here.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The Nether suddenly felt a lot more suffocating.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Anyway,” Techno continued, stopping for a moment to look at their surroundings. “Dream decided to help out. Says he’s doing it because he’s had a change of heart, but knowing him, he’s probably got ulterior motives. Still, though. Enemy of my enemy is my friend and all that. He’s been useful, though, at least according to you. So I’m trusting you on this, really.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He wasn’t really listening.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“But why would Schlatt…?” Wilbur muttered. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Techno gave him another stare. He felt a brush of indignation at that. He could understand keeping secrets, for the greater good, but these looks Techno was giving him, like he was glass—it was getting frustrating. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Techno shrugged. “I dunno. Isn’t that his whole thing, though? You really shouldn’t be surprised.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur looked down, staring at his feet. “...yeah,” Wilbur mumbled, recalling lava and heat and laughter and death. “I really shouldn’t.”</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Quackity did not like Wilbur Soot. They got along just fine, at least before this whole fiasco, before this mess of politics and before, admittedly, Quackity’s mistake of allowing Schlatt to have a shot of winning. But despite their positive interactions, despite their moments, at the end of the day, Quackity could not reconcile the policies Wilbur had in place before all this. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tommy was different, though, Quackity could tell. Tommy was fiery and passionate and yearned for a better future, just like him. That was why Quackity had run against Wilbur in the first place. Because he wanted to change the country for the better. And he could tell Tommy wanted the same thing. Tommy was just loyal. And Quackity couldn’t fault him for that.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So, he liked Tommy. Tommy was easier to deal with, and despite his admittedly xenophobic tendencies, Tommy wasn’t exactly malicious. He was willing to side with Quackity, after all this. Quackity was grateful for that.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He couldn’t say the same thing for Wilbur. There was just something off about the man, from the moment they first met. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You doing okay, Big Q?” Tubbo asked from below. Quackity looked down at Tubbo. The former secretary of state was covered in bandages, and Quackity swallowed down the guilt that was threatening to eat at him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Quackity said. He was sitting down in one of the cobblestone platforms in Pogtopia, letting his feet dangle off the edge. Tubbo climbed up over to him, and sat down beside him. Quackity turned to look at him. “Just thinking, is all.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“About?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Wilbur,” Quackity said. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tubbo’s expression seemed to fall. Quackity frowned. That seemed commonplace, when he tried to bring up the man. Something happened, he could tell. Something neither Tommy nor Tubbo would tell him. But it seemed bad, and with the man not showing up ever since the festival, it felt like he got himself tangled up in a conflict that he wasn’t privy to. But he should be, because he was part of Pogtopia now, and by extension, their problems were his problems now.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What about Wilbur?” Tubbo asked.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do you think Wilbur would have been a good leader?” Quackity asked.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tubbo hesitated. “I think that… if these circumstances didn’t happen, he would have been. He was our president, after all, even if it wasn’t for long. And he led us during the war. He wants what’s best, after all.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You don’t think he would’ve changed?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I think,” Tubbo said, and Quackity frowns, noting Tubbo’s carefulness. “That Wilbur is someone who weighs out his options very well.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There was something Tubbo wasn’t saying. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Tubbo,” Quackity said. “What the hell is going on?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I—“ Tubbo tensed, and at Tubbo’s wide eyes Quackity almost felt bad for being so insistent, but before the guilt could fully kick in, he pressed on.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I know you won’t tell me, but if I’m going to be Pogtopia’s ally, I at least want to know—can we trust Wilbur?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Quackity didn’t. Not in a million years. But if the others did, they must see something in the former general that Quackity could not. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tubbo stared at Quackity for the longest moment.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“...yes,” Tubbo said. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Quackity didn’t fail to notice Tubbo hesitated.</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Dream was leaning against a portal, glancing at them lazily from behind the mask.</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Took you long enough,” He said, arms crossed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>From the dark of the Nether, Dream looked almost sinister. Almost. If Techno were being honest, Dream looked kind of stupid with the mask, like a tryhard who wanted to seem intimidating. It seemed to work, though, what with Wilbur behind him suddenly tensing as they approach Dream. Never on Techno, though. Never. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dream cocked his head, turning to look at Wilbur. “You’re acting weird today.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur looked over at Technoblade, as if asking what to do. Techno shook his head.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hmm,” Dream said. He glanced back at Techno. “Is that why you asked me to meet?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I told you, we have a problem.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And you need my help,” Dream said. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Just to set the record straight,” Technoblade said. “The only reason I’m asking you for help is because that’s what Wilbur would have done. </span>
  <em>
    <span>He </span>
  </em>
  <span>trusts you. Not me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur shot Technoblade an odd look. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dream hummed. “Mm, you never fail to amaze me with your constant distrust of everyone around you.” He stepped away from the obsidian he was leaning against and took a step towards them. “So, what do you need?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Techno looked over to Wilbur, gesturing for him to speak. Wilbur blinked, before turning to look at Dream. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, I—I can’t seem to remember anything,” He said hesitantly, as if testing the waters with his newly discovered alliance with Dream. “Anything after the war, at least.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So you don’t remember me helping you reclaim L’manberg?” Dream asked, tilting his head to the side. “That’s concerning.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The faux concern in Dream’s voice could fool anyone else, but Techno knew better. Wilbur would have caught it, too, had he had his memory. Techno looked over at Wilbur. Wilbur seemed to hesitate. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Techno narrowed his eyes. “Drop the act, green boy. We both know what you’re playing at.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I don’t think I understand,” Dream said, the lie slipping off his tongue easily. Whatever. The effort to try to crack at Dream’s mask was too difficult, and that wasn’t what Techno was here for.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Look,” Techno said. “That’s not the point.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Then what is the point?” Dream asked. “If your goal was to tell me Wilbur is an amnesiac, then congrats, you did it. Do you want me to help jog his memory?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No,” Techno admitted. Wilbur glanced at him, raising a brow. Techno crossed his arms and leaned against a wall of netherrack, ignoring the way the rock burned at his cloak, the heat reaching his skin. “Dream, we’re allies, right?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m Wilbur’s ally, yes,” Dream said. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And an ally of Wilbur is mine,” Techno said. “You want to help Pogtopia destroy Manberg. Wilbur’s currently out of commission—no offense, Will—and after the disaster that was the festival, we’re in shambles. The plans Wilbur and I have—I can’t do them while he’s like this. So I hate to say it, but…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You need my help,” Dream said, and Techno could practically see the smile from underneath the mask. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur just looked to Technoblade, before looking at Dream. He didn’t speak.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Is that a yes, Dream?” Techno asked, impatient.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dream looked at Wilbur, staring at Wilbur for the longest time.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He turned back to Techno.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“When do we start?”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hey! Updates might slow down in a while since I’m going to try to catch up on school soon, but I hope you all enjoyed this!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. aftermath</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>the days after.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The days following Wilbur’s announcement had been surprisingly uneventful. Fundy had expected more cheer, more gatherings to celebrate the victory. After all, they had won. They could finally walk around without the threat of Dream looming over them, could talk and laugh without the fear of death. But it seemed like everyone was just glad it was all over. Things just… went back to normal. Like nothing happened. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur was avoiding him too, for some odd reason. It’s not like Fundy was ungrateful for the sudden freedom, but Wilbur not looking over Fundy’s shoulder at any given moment felt off somehow. He was used to being dismissed, being ignored, but this felt different. Even before, when Fundy would tug at his father’s sleeve, Wilbur would raise a hand and say, “Shh, the grown ups are talking.” At least then, Wilbur had spoken to him. Now, though… </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur didn’t even look at him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Fundy’s mind flashed back to when Wilbur held a sword to Fundy’s throat, his eyes cold with hatred and words laced with frost. Fundy shook his head, trying to get the image out of his mind.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Fundy walked through the land, looking up at the walls that loomed over him. Safety, Wilbur had said. The walls symbolized safety. Freedom from their oppressors by keeping out all those who wish them harm. Within these walls, violence wasn’t allowed. There would be no fighting, no weapons, simply peace. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fundy looked up, squinting as he saw someone atop the wall. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey!” Fundy said, waving. No response.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He walked over to the ladder, climbing it and hopping on the platform. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eret sat along the edge, his cape draped over his shoulders. He wasn’t wearing the uniform. The others still dressed in the blue and gold at times, but Fundy had long shrugged off the candy pastel coat in favor of a black jacket and a cap. Looks like Eret decided to dress in casual today. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“What’re you thinkin’ about?” Fundy asked, taking a seat beside Eret. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s a lot peaceful now,” Eret said. “It’s… nice.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Fundy nodded. “Yeah. Peace is good. But I kinda expected more, I guess.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How so?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Fundy shrugged. “Thought Wilbur would at least have some more time for me, you know, considering we’re independent and all. I thought freedom meant more free time, but you know.” He ran a hand through his fur, his ears flattening as he did. “Whatever. It’s fine. I’m glad that he hasn’t been fussing over me. I guess I’m just weirded out by the fact that… everything’s just kind of blown over? Like, don’t get me wrong, I’m glad everything isn’t terribly chaotic like in the war, but it’s like nothing really happened?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eret glanced at Fundy. “Did you hear the news?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Fundy frowned. “What news?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Wilbur’s planning a celebration,” Eret said. “A couple weeks from now. Independence Day, he says. Everyone’s invited—even Dream. You didn’t know?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He didn’t tell me that,” Fundy said, and he couldn’t help the bitterness that escaped his tone. “Right. Obviously. I’m so grown up now that I have to </span>
  <em>
    <span>ask</span>
  </em>
  <span> him, instead. Of course.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eret frowned. “Are you okay?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Just fine,” Fundy said, though with the way he said it it was obvious that he wasn’t. He groaned. “God, Eret, no, I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>not. </span>
  </em>
  <span>If you haven’t noticed, Wilbur’s avoiding me like the fucking plague, and I don’t even know why!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Maybe he just wants to give you some space,” Eret said. “You did complain a lot when he used to dote on you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eret was ever the rational one. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I know,” Fundy muttered, his ears flattening as he looked down at his feet. “I’ve thought about that. But it’s just…” He looked up at Eret. “He won’t look at me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eret frowned. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Fundy bit the inside of his lip. He doesn’t know why shame rises up in him at the admission. He feels like a kid. “Yeah. And I don’t even know why.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Fundy that’s… awful,” Eret said. “He shouldn’t do that to you. You’re his son.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Doesn’t stop him from doing it,” Fundy said, looking away. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Still,” Eret said. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Fundy went quiet, staring off into the distance. He could see Tubbo and Tommy down below, laughing. They looked like they were in the middle of building something. Wilbur was nowhere around. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Fundy felt sick. The dread had been building up ever since Wilbur woke up from his sudden black out the other day, ever since Wilbur looked at him with hate in those eyes. Something was wrong, but some part of him felt like he shouldn’t—couldn’t—do anything, that he was just a kid, that he had some fault in this, and he recalls the glare in Wilbur’s eyes, the growl in his voice. He hated it. He hated this feeling, hated how Wilbur kept making him feel helpless, and hated how this time he felt shame for absolutely nothing. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Logically, he understands that certainly something must be wrong, but frustration bubbled in his veins, and he wanted to lash out, claw at something, because dammit, what did he even do? Why won’t his father look at him?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s like he was being pushed away, like Wilbur was trying to give what he thinks Fundy wants, but that’s not it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He could feel tears of frustration pooling at his eyes, and he had to wipe at them with the sleeve of his jacket.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I just want my dad to talk to me like a person,” Fundy muttered, pulling his knees to his chest. “Fuck.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eret placed a hand on Fundy’s shoulder. “You want a hug?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Fuck no,” Fundy said, wiping his eye. “Don’t treat me like glass. I get enough of that from him.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eret nodded. “Got it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur had promised them a better future. Wilbur had promised </span>
  <em>
    <span>him </span>
  </em>
  <span>a better future.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Well, here they were in the future. And it kinda sucked.</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>“You think we should put gold streamers or yellow?” Tubbo asked, forming a square with his fingers, trying to plan out how they were going to build the podium. At the lack of a response, Tubbo lowered his hands and looked around. He groaned, looking at Tommy. “Tommy? Are you even listening?”</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What’s the difference?” Tommy asked, looking up from where he laid down on the ground, kicking his legs in the air. “Isn’t gold just the same shit as yellow? Just use the gold. Makes no difference, does it?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You really need to learn how decorating works,” Tubbo said, rolling his eyes. “And maybe learn how to actually be helpful for once.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I </span>
  <em>
    <span>am </span>
  </em>
  <span>helping,” Tommy said, pouting. He tapped the tip of his quill against the side of the paper in his hands. “I’m making invites.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ugh, whatever,” Tubbo said, waving a hand dismissively. “I’ll just go with the yellow.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What’s the point of asking me for a preference if you’re just going to ignore it?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tubbo ignored him. Tommy frowned.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Tubbo, hello! Are you just going to ignore me?” Tommy yelled. Tubbo didn’t turn to look at him. “Oh my god, you’re just ignoring me. That’s so bad. You’re being so so rude to me, Tubbo. This is so immature. Tubboooo—“</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh my god Tommy,” Tubbo said, groaning. “I just want to decorate in peace, </span>
  <em>
    <span>please.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“And I want you to stop ignoring me,” Tommy said. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tubbo let out a noise of frustration. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Anyway</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Tommy prattled on, ignoring Tubbo’s look of disbelief at Tommy. “Do you reckon I should invite Niki? I’ve been seeing her letters on Wilbur’s doorstep recently.” Tommy raised his brows suggestively with a mischievous grin. “He’d appreciate it, wouldn’t he?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I really don’t think there’s anything going on with Wilbur and Niki,” Tubbo said. “You just assume every woman Wilbur hangs around is his girlfriend.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Niki’s a girl, and she’s his friend. Put those two words together. Girl friend.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh my god, Tommy, please stop,” Tubbo said. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Stop what?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re doing this on purpose.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Doing what?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Argh!” Tubbo groaned, slapping both hands on his face and throwing his head back. Tommy laughed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>This felt nice. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s been forever since the two of them could just hang around like this. First it had been the disc war, then the war for L’manberg… Tommy was grateful. He was glad that they were finally free, the threat of Dream no longer hovering over them, like an all-seeing adversary that could attack at any given time. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He had Wilbur to thank for this, of course. This was all Wilbur’s doing. Without Will, he wasn’t sure if they’d ever get freedom. Tommy wonders what Wilbur had said to Dream.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tommy shook his head. Whatever it was, it must’ve shook the tyrant to his core, that he trembled and gave in to L’manberg’s wishes. Tommy could imagine Wilbur, towering over Dream, with that wicked sword he somehow magically got recently, having bested Dream in combat. He likes to imagine that’s what happened. Or maybe Wilbur had spoken of freedom, of peace, that even Dream melted and caved, finally understanding the tenets of serenity that Wilbur wanted them all to live by.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>If anyone could do it, it was Wilbur. And Wilbur certainly did do it. Whatever it was.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur was a hero.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tommy’s laughter died down and he smiled, looking down at the paper in his hand. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You are cordially invited to the L’manberg Independence Day</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he wrote.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was glad that Wilbur decided to do this. It’d be fun. Celebrating freedom with everyone, even Dream—that’d be something. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Tubbo,” He said. “I wonder if there’d be girls.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Depends on who you invite,” Tubbo said. “Are you bringing in Big Q, by the way?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m inviting a few people,” Tommy said. “Wilbur seemed to trust me on the guest list, so. But I’ll run the guests by him before sending out the invites. Don’t want to fuck this up </span>
  <em>
    <span>that </span>
  </em>
  <span>badly, y’know?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tubbo nodded. “Oh, what about Techno and Phil? It’d be nice to have us all here, don’t you think? It’s been so long since we’ve all been together…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tommy looked off to the side. That would be nice. He hasn’t seen either of them in a while. Especially Phil… he wonders if the letter would even find its way to Phil. He knows Techno would come at his word. As much as Techno likes to act like he bends for no man, Techno always had a soft spot for his family. All of them did, really. None of them just wanted to admit it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He missed them both. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You reckon this would be like a party or something?” Tommy asked. “I don’t think Phil would like it if we had underage drinking and shit.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I was thinking more like a festival,” Tubbo said. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“A festival, huh?” Tommy asked, humming in thought. “Festival of freedom.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That does have a ring to it,” Tubbo said, smiling. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A festival. Sounds like it’d be a blast.</span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>;)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. chateau</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>new house, new home.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Wilbuuuuur!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tommy banged his fist against dark oaken doors, letting out a whine. He groaned at the lack of a response, taking a step away from the doors to look around the estate Wilbur had built for himself. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was a nice place, built on a little hill overlooking the podium from the side. It had light colors and white accents, with the roof being a lovely sky blue, and the windows had plants and flowers on the sill. There was a path lined with hedges leading to the front steps. Wilbur had called it a chateau, if Tommy recalled correctly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Alright, I’m coming!” Wilbur’s voice called out from behind the doors. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tommy took a step away from the door, hands behind his back and impatiently rocking back and forth on his heels. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The door swung open and there was Wilbur, his hair a mess and sleeves folded up. He took a step aside and gestured towards the inside. “Well, make yourself at home.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tommy nodded, walking inside.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Whoa,” He said, turning his head to look around the room. There were stairs that ran along the sides of the foyer with blue carpet with gold trim laid out on dark oak steps. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do you like it?” Wilbur asked. “I spent a while building this place. Thought I could use a proper house that wasn’t a rundown old van.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Wilbur, how much time do you have?” Tommy asked, almost bewildered. He kept his head up as he continued walking. A chandelier hung from the ceiling, the candles lit up with the familiar flicker of soul blue flame. “We got independence like, just a few weeks ago—“</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Halfway through a step, Wilbur suddenly grabbed Tommy by the back of his coat.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey—!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Watch where you’re going,” Wilbur said. Tommy blinked, before looking down, seeing he nearly toppled over the lectern at the room. The book displayed was familiar, of course—it was the Declaration.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tommy rolled his eyes as Wilbur let go of his coat. He snorted. “I always watch. I’m not blind. I see everything, my man. My eyes, I’m like an owl. Don’t blink and shit.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur laughed. “Alright, hand me your coat,” He said. “And I’m pretty sure owls blink.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tommy shrugged the revolutionary coat off his shoulders.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Bullshit,” He said. “That’s their thing. They’re looking. They go eyes and turn their heads all weird.”  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tommy handed the coat to Wilbur. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Tommy, I’m not going to argue the biology of a fucking bird with you,” Wilbur said, snorting. He placed the uniform on a coat rack beside the front door. “You’re silly.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur’s hand lingered on the rack, laughing lightly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You’re just mad that I’m right and you’re wrong,” Tommy said, unable to resist the urge to smile. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur laughed. “Alright, alright, before we get carried away, you want to head up into my office?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Right,” Tommy said. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur nodded, walking up ahead and climbing up the steps. Tommy followed along, letting his hand trail along the stair railing. The house was impressive, Tommy could tell, as Wilbur led him to different hallways lined with paintings, hallways lined with trinkets and treasures that Wilbur must have collected in his own adventures. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tommy wonders what that was like for Wilbur. Wilbur had been the one who stayed at home, even after Techno left for cities in the skies, even after Tommy packed up and went exploring off into different worlds with Tubbo. Wilbur didn’t leave, until Phil took flight—off to new frontiers.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tommy didn’t really know what happened to Wilbur during that time. All he knows is the next time he saw Wilbur was here, hand in hand with a fox that Wilbur called son. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He wonders how much time has passed for Wilbur. Time passes strangely in other realms, days for him could have been years for Wilbur. But Wilbur looks the same as the day Tommy left, though more weary than he was before. It’s like nothing changed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was glad for it, though. He missed Wilbur. He was glad that Wilbur didn’t act like anything was different. It was a relief. Wilbur’s smiles and teasing words… It was like home. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tommy followed Wilbur into a room. A study, from the looks of it, with its long table and bookshelves, with a window on the side of the wall that let the sunlight in. Wilbur took a seat in the chair. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You have something to show me, then?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ah, yeah—“ Tommy said, patting his pockets for the paper. He dug into his pocket and fished out a crumpled piece of paper, raising it up in the air. “Aha!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tommy offered the paper to Wilbur. “I’ve got all the letters finished up, just gotta send them off to their respective worlds,” He said. Wilbur took the paper from Tommy.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur leaned back the chair, putting on his glasses as his eyes scanned through Tommy’s invite list. “Everyone on the SMP seems to be on here… as well as a few other people.” Wilbur looked up from the list. “I’m sure Dream could open up the realm just for us.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Still find it weird that that green bastard is working with us now,” Tommy said. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What can I say, I’m persuasive,” Wilbur said, smirking. He looked back down at the paper. “Right, so we’ve got invites for Niki, Techno, oh you’ve got Phil on this as well, and we’ve got—“</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur stopped, cutting himself off. His grip on the paper suddenly tightens as his shoulders tense, but before Tommy could mention it Wilbur suddenly relaxed, looking back up at Tommy. “You’re inviting Quackity?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tommy frowned. “Yes? Why, is that weird?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur stared at Tommy for a moment. His brows were furrowed, and he seemed to be thinking, though Tommy couldn’t help but feel his gaze looked cold. He looked down at the paper. “Not really,” Wilbur said. “It’s just… interesting, is all.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tommy nodded. “Okay…” He said, trailing off. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur pulled off his glasses, setting it down on the desk. He folded up the paper, looking back up at Tommy. Wilbur smiled, and Tommy shook off the feeling of wrongness that had kicked in at Wilbur’s sudden shift in attitude earlier. It was probably nothing. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Thank you, Tommy,” Wilbur said. He stood up, stepping over to his right hand man. Tommy looked up to look at Wilbur in the eyes. Wilbur glanced over the window, and Tommy followed Wilbur’s gaze. “Do you see what I see, Tommy?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tommy’s eyes flitted to look at Wilbur before looking back outside. He could see the podium from here, could see the decor Tubbo had worked on, could see the blackstone walls and their flag fluttering in the wind. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s L’manberg,” Tommy said. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur nodded. “Our L’manberg,” He said wistfully. “It’s like a song, and each note that plays is written with our pasts, our mistakes, our successes… it’s like a symphony that never gets finished.” He looked at Tommy, and Tommy looked at him. There’s a look in Wilbur’s eyes, a special sort of weariness that Tommy does not know if he could ever understand. Wilbur looks tired. “I… we fought so much for this land, Tommy.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We did,” Tommy said. He frowned. “Where are you going with this?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur tore his gaze away from Tommy and looked back out the window. “Do you trust me, Tommy?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tommy didn’t hesitate in answering.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Always.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Then know everything I do, everything I’ve done… it’s for this country,” Wilbur said. He sounded determined, and Tommy could see it in Wilbur’s eyes—this steely resolve, this resolve that Tommy wishes he could have. “There are things that I can’t tell you, not yet, but know when they come to light, it’s because it’s what’s best for this country. For everyone.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tommy doesn’t say anything at first, unsure of what to respond to that. That sounded a little foreboding, if Tommy were being honest. But at the end of this, at the end of the day, he trusted Wilbur with his life. His hesitation before this, his apprehension—they disappeared the moment Wilbur had told them they were free, the moment Tommy realized Wilbur always had something up his sleeve, that Wilbur would do everything for them. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’ve said it before, but I’ll say it again. I trust you, Wilbur.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur sighed, turning his head to look back down at Tommy. “I’ve missed you, Tommy.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“...I did, too,” Tommy said, and the admission felt like a relief, and it was like something was finally lifted off his shoulders that he didn’t realize was there. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur put a hand on his shoulder. Wilbur smiled, though it looked strained. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I missed having you on my side.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There was something else in the way Wilbur said those words, and that despite his smile, there was still pensiveness in his tone, and Tommy could see Wilbur looking at him with an emotion that he could see was just as rueful. Tired, Tommy knew. He didn’t fully understand why Wilbur was looking at him like this, looking at Tommy with regret in his eyes, but Tommy knew that no matter what, he’d be here by Wilbur’s side. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He was Wilbur’s right hand man, after all. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tommy snorted. “I’m still here, dumbass,” He said. “I ain’t going anywhere.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur’s smile faltered. “...Promise?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tommy nodded. “I’m not going.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Not anymore. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur glanced back outside. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“This is home now,” Tommy said. “And for once, I’m going to stay.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur doesn’t say anything, but his hold on Tommy’s shoulder tightens. Tommy doesn’t pull away.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur lets go, turning away from Tommy and walking over to his desk. “...thanks for stopping by, Tommy.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tommy nodded. “It was nice seeing you, Wilbur.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He lets the door close behind him as he makes his way out.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Sorry for the late update! Writer’s block hit extra hard, haha, and the latest streams hit just as hard. How we doing about Tommy exile?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. interlude iv (memory)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>past, present.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>Dragging a cow’s carcass was always a pain, but it was a necessary one for their survival. Survival, he repeats in his head, lugging the dead body through the plains. The weight of the animal on his back seemed to grow heavier with each step, each grunt, each heave of breath, but he couldn’t afford a moment to rest, not with the sun beginning to set on the horizon. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He could see home in the distance. The small wooden house stood at the edge of the forest, smoke coming out of the chimney. A dog ran up to him as he approached, but it was held back by a lead tied to a fencepost. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He let the carcass slide off his shoulders and hit the ground with a thud. He cocked his head down, letting his shoulders crack as he enjoyed the feeling of being unhindered by literal dead weight. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Phil would take care of the meat later, he thinks, so he climbs up the stone steps and pulls open the door, closing it behind him as he enters. He takes off his cloak and sets it down on a hook. Home smelled like ash and chemical, and he could hear the bubbling sounds of potion making even here in the living room. A baby cries somewhere further inside.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He walks through the living room and heads upstairs, to the room with the opened door. He leans against the doorframe, watching the familiar vapors of alchemy waft through the room, crinkling his nose at the scent. Sometimes potion making could be lovely, smelling of nectar and sweetness with a hint of wood, but at times it reeked of something toxic and foul—something deadly.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Wilbur lifts his head up from where he was working, too large yellow sweater covered in potion stains and ash. “You got home fast, Techno.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He shrugged. “Getting better at hunting,” He said. “Mind if I have one?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Oh, sorry.” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Wilbur throws him a potion, the liquid inside sickeningly pink and thick. Techno catches it with one hand. He cracks open the lid and downs the regen pot, letting the syrupy liquid slide down his throat. It was sweet, though it had a burning aftertaste, like alcohol. Techno set the glass bottle down on the desk beside Wilbur. There were books strewn across the desk, and Techno raised a brow at one of them—there were runes written on the pages. Those were Phil’s books—books on travel. Wilbur seemed to notice Techno’s eyes on the books, and shifted slightly to cover them.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Techno doesn’t say anything. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Wilbur glances at Technoblade before biting down at his lip, as if thinking. He opens his mouth.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Is Phil—“</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“No,” Techno said, and Wilbur shuts up. “He’s not.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Wilbur nods, shrinking into himself. He stares down at the floor. He looks smaller when he does that. Doesn’t help that the sweater he’s wearing was a few sizes too large on him, but Techno was sure Wilbur would grow into it. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He sighed. “He’ll be back soon.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Wilbur’s head snaps back up. “That’s what you always say.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“And he always comes back,” Techno said, turning around and walking over to one of the bookshelves in the room. His eyes trail along the spines of the books in the collection. Some were novels, some books on the Nether and the End. Mostly Phil’s little gifts, something for Wilbur to do. “Are you lonely?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Wilbur doesn’t say anything, but Techno knows the answer. He snorts, standing on his toes and picking out a thick tome at the top shelf. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“That why you hang out with that kid from the village?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I—“ Wilbur said, and Techno smirked, watching Wilbur’s cheeks go red. “How’d you know about that?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“You’re not very subtle,” Techno said, blowing the dust off the book and flipping through the pages. The book detailed basic enchantment, something Techno was familiar with already. He just wanted something to do with his hands. “I hear he’s trouble. Likes to go around asking for coin, picks pockets. I don’t think Phil would like you hanging around someone like that.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Techno keeps his gaze trained on Wilbur as the kid darts his eyes down and plays with the hem of his sweater. “I don’t care what dad thinks,” Wilbur said, brows furrowed. “He’s nice to me.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Never said he wasn’t,” Technoblade said.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Will you tell?” Wilbur asked.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Nah,” Techno said, shutting the book in his hands and setting it down on the nearest shelf. Techno leaned against the bookshelf, crossing his arms and looking at Wilbur. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Do you mean that?” Wilbur asked, unsure.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Sure,” Techno said. “Snitching doesn’t give me anything. ‘Sides, you could use it. A friend, I mean. Aren’t many kids around here your age, so. Eh. I’ll keep my mouth shut.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Wilbur looks at Techno, as if trying to read him, trying to see if Techno was lying. He looks back down. Technoblade let out a sigh, walking over.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“You wanna tell me about him?” Techno asked. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Wilbur blinks, staring at Techno. “I—what?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Look, if I’m not snitching you should at least let me know what this guy’s like,” Techno said. “Don’t want you getting scammed.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Wilbur considers this. “Well… he’s funny. Makes fun of me a lot, but that’s okay. I know he doesn’t mean it. Sometimes he steals my stuff, but then he gives it back. I think he just does it so he has an excuse to come back.” He smiles to himself. “It’s nice. I’ve… never really had a friend before.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“That really doesn’t help me not think of him as a total scammer,” Techno said. “But whatever, I’ll take your word for it.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Hey! He’s nice.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“You know who else can be nice? Mass murderers.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Wilbur kicks Techno. “Techno!”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Techno laughs, letting the sound fade into nothing before his smile falls. “On a serious note, though. I’m glad you have a friend.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Wilbur said nothing.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Just, uh, be careful, yeah?” Techno said, moving to walk out of the room. “Don’t want you getting hurt.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I won’t.” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“...right.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He thinks about those books on Wilbur’s desk. He knows those were from Phil’s room. Phil’s shown them to him, once. He stops at the doorway, glancing back at Wilbur with a frown. “You shouldn’t mess with that, you know.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Wilbur’s head darts back up. “What?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Travel,” Techno said. “I won’t tell on you, but if you don’t know what you’re doing, you could get stuck.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“That’s why I’m reading,” Wilbur said, stubborn. “To know what I’m doing. Isn’t that the point of learning?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Techno turns back around, but Wilbur speaks before he could try to leave again.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“...besides, I think it could be fun.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Traveling to other realms?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Yeah.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Techno turns his head to look at Wilbur. “Why are you so interested in this all of a sudden?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Wilbur frowned, knitting his brow. “What do you mean?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Other realms. What’s going on, Wilbur? Tell me.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I don’t need a reason to think realm travel is cool, Techno. And this isn’t sudden, who wouldn’t want to travel?” Wilbur rolled his eyes. He muttered, “...besides, you get to travel and hang out with dad, while I’m stuck here all day taking care of Tommy and brewing stupid potions.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Techno frowned. “Traveling is dangerous.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Are you saying you’ll tell on me?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I’m not saying that.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Then stop. I’m not stupid.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I’m not saying that either.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Wilbur turned to look away from Technoblade. “Then what are you saying?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Just be careful.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Yeah, yeah. Get out of my room, Techno.” Wilbur was dismissive. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Whatever. Wilbur could do what he wants. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“You’re the one keeping me,” Techno said, turning around once more and stepping out of the room, leaving the door shut behind him. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Wilbur can’t say Techno didn’t warn him.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>The chill of the air nips at his skin, even through the coat. But it was fine. He was used to the cold. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Wilbur follows behind Technoblade as they trekked through the night. Neither of them said anything. The conversation with Dream didn’t last very long, and Techno had decided sticking around in Pogtopia didn’t seem to be the best idea. Wilbur seemed to agree, too. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I didn’t think I’d show you here yet,” Techno said, stepping into the shallow lake, glancing at Wilbur. “But I think the base is better as a more permanent home than that ugly shack I made. ‘Sides, Tommy doesn’t know where this is, so our secret should be safe.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Won’t he wonder where I am?” Wilbur asked.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Eventually,” Techno said. “Though I don’t think he’ll question it. Kid’s loyal. Just kinda stupid.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Wilbur nodded, not disagreeing. Techno hopped into the hole, falling into the tiny pit of water with a splash. Wilbur followed behind him. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“This is your base?” Wilbur asked, looking at the different chests. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Keep up,” Techno said. He walked to where his secret lever was, pulling it and climbing down the ladder to the basement. He jumped off as soon as he was near the ground, taking off his boots and setting them down to the side. Wilbur climbed in after him.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Whoa,” Wilbur said. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s still a work in progress,” Techno said, waving a hand dismissively. “Don’t be too impressed.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You work a lot, you know that, right?” Wilbur said. He chuckled, letting his cloak slide off him and throwing it on the bed in the corner of the room. He pulled off his own shoes and tossed it to the side. Wilbur threw himself on the bed, letting out a groan as he hit the sheets. “Gods, I could lay down here forever. I’m so fucking tired.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“We did walk a lot.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I could sleep for a hundred years.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Techno snorted. “Manberg might not exist then.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“L’manberg,” Wilbur corrected. “What kind of stupid name is Manberg, anyway? I can’t believe they’d let Schlatt fucking rename the country.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>There wasn’t any malice in Wilbur’s tone, more like amused disbelief. It was a bit nice, if Techno were being honest. Wilbur had been filled with nervous manic energy for so long that Techno had almost forgotten what Wilbur was like before all this. Techno laughed. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“He said they took no L’s.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course he would,” Wilbur said, burying his head in a pillow. “He’s annoying.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“He really is,” Technoblade agreed. He walked over and set a bed nearby. He sat down on it. “You should get some rest. Some sleep might help you get your memories back.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Wilbur snorted. “Judging from the shitshow the present seems to be, I don’t even think I want to remember.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Techno said nothing, instead leaning against the wall and pulling a leg up on the bed. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“...Techno,” Wilbur said, lifting his head up to look at Techno.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Earlier you said you and I had plans. Things you can’t do while… while I’m like this.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“...yes,” Techno said. “Why are you saying this?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You said he wanted to help Pogtopia destroy Manberg.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Technoblade goes quiet at that. Techno didn’t think Wilbur would have caught that, but Techno should have. Wilbur was sharp, far sharper than people know. He caught onto details. He was smart. Lately, that sharpness was misused, focusing on the wrong details and obsessing over insane plans, but in this moment Techno could see the focused clarity Wilbur normally possessed. He’d almost forgotten that.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Destroy,” Wilbur repeated. “Not reclaim, like Dream said. I’m not surprised that Dream would want that, but… be honest with me. Was that the plan?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Shit. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you want to know the answer to that?” Techno asked.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“If I’m being honest? Not really,” Wilbur said, sitting up on the bed. He tucked his knees into his chest. “I assume that means yes, though.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Wilbur sounded forlorn, letting out a sigh.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“So I gave up, then?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“...yeah,” Techno said. “You did.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Wilbur let out a laugh. It sounded empty. “Guess I shouldn’t be surprised.” He stared down at his socks. “Never was good at staying good.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Techno didn’t say anything. He wasn’t sure what to say. He didn’t want Wilbur to know, obviously, but… it’s not like he can lie. That was never his style. He should be comforting Wilbur, right? That sounded like the right thing to do. But it felt like saying something would just make things worse.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Wilbur sighed, running a hand through his hair. He smiled, though it looked forced, and Wilbur’s eyes looked tired. “Thank you for being honest with me, Techno.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Techno nodded. “It’s the least I can do.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Wilbur stared at Techno for the longest moment, before laying back down and turning on his side.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“...good night, Wilbur.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Good night, Techno.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>It’s 5 am and I am buzzed on coffee. Please send help. Also, been thinking about writing a Ranboo one-shot? I really like the fact that he’s half-enderman... I have a theory he’s the prince of the End and he just can’t remember, lol. I mean, if he’s half-ghast... a marriage between the End and the Nether that resulted in him, maybe? Who knows! Also, I’m finally active on twitter, haha. My user’s @m1smarch—I’m free to talk to anyone who has MCYT brainrot too lol ;P</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. tantalus</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>the king of sipylus.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The night was tranquil. Eret always liked the serenity the night offered. It helped him think. So he did. He walked on the wooden path, hands in his pockets, letting his cloak trail behind him. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It would be so easy to say he regretted it. Regretted conspiring, regretted his lack of faith, but that wasn’t completely true, now was it? If anything, he felt resentment. He didn’t get to follow through with his plans, his schemes to be something—it was taken away from him with one crash, one fall to the ground, one ear-piercing scream. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He should feel bad. He really should. And he did, sometimes. Whenever he saw Tommy and Tubbo and Fundy grin and smile and laugh and ask him to join along their celebrations, seeing their happy faces—a pang of guilt does hit him. It does. It really does. But not as much as it should.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The guilt gets overshadowed by that need, that compulsion for more. Freedom? Independence? Nothing but ideals, nothing but empty shells of abstract notions that mean fuck all at the end of the day. He can’t do anything with ideals. Can’t do anything with this suffocating peace and quiet, this forced serenity, this anticlimactic end to all of this.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>War is opportunity. And he missed his fucking mark.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He just wanted that damn crown. It was so close, so desperately close, he could practically taste it, but Wilbur’s blackout had snatched that away from him. He could envision what could have been in his mind’s eye, and it hurts, knowing what he could’ve had. But the door had been open and by the time he ran to it Dream had shut it closed, leaving Eret with nothing but a sinking feeling and the feeling he had been robbed of something he never had.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The crown had been right over his head, a tantalizing glimpse of what could have been. Kingship. Glory. All for the lovely price of betrayal. It was so easy. But it never happened. It was hard to feel bad for something you didn’t get to do. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And it was hard to fully realize the guilt, not with this resentment bubbling in his chest.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Wilbur flashes in his mind’s eye.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Wilbur. Clever and sharp witted. A man of words. Of peace. Of </span>
  <em>
    <span>truth. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Nothing like Eret. The man who snatched away Eret’s crown and put it on his own, a man who molded his own throne of heroism and valor. Eret hated it. It could be the jealousy talking, but this all felt wrong. All so terribly wrong.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He needs to get over it. He knows that. Maybe he should just come clean, admit to it—it’s not like he managed to betray them, anyway, so it wouldn’t hit too hard. Plus, he was certain that with Dream’s newfound friendship with Wilbur, Eret should get off pretty lightly. Once he does that, he’ll get over this stupid feeling of envy. It was irrational and it was getting in the way of his relationships. He shouldn’t fault Wilbur for doing what’s best, for obtaining their freedom.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>But still. It was so hard not to. It was so hard to just be happy when he could have had it all.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He felt almost restless. The tranquility of the night did nothing to help. It should have. During the war, when the day was nothing but gunfire and bloodshed, he sought the night’s quiet embrace. But now it felt suffocating, it felt forceful, it felt </span>
  <em>
    <span>wrong. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He was drowning in the serenity, in the mediocrity, and he needed to claw his way out, to claw his way back to the top.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He looks to the side. He sees Tubbo’s old house. It was barely standing, with nothing but old chests still around. Another relic of the war. A war that was over. A war that they had won.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Eret didn’t feel like he won anything.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He just felt used.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Sorry for the short chapter! Just wanted to get this one out of the way before we delve into the next part. It’s a bit more of a character study, so nothing really happens, but stuff should be happening in the next few chapters!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. arrival</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>alternate title: premonition</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Quackity lowered his shades, whistling as he took in the sight. A large estate up on the hill. Stone seats lining a path. Stands, balloons… it looked great. The walls were an eyesore, though. Tall and dark and honestly, they looked fucking stupid. They looked like they were closing something off. He glanced down at the person beside him. Niki turned to look at him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Damn,” He said. “They’ve really been busy out here, huh?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I guess so,” Niki said. “It’s really nice, actually.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>She adjusted her scarf. Her hair had initially been tucked in, but the wind was just strong enough that her hair was pushed out of the fabric. She looked away awkwardly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“So, uh…” Quackity said. His hand gripped the strap of his bag. He clicked his tongue nervously, trying to think of what to say. It’s not like he didn’t know Niki. They were friends. Sort of. A bit hard to have friendly relations when Quackity hardly made the effort to traverse through the realms himself. But he did enjoy her company. He just needed to get used to being here like this. Being so grounded to reality. “You’re going to live here, right?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Yeah,” Niki said. She sighed, but there was a small smile on her face. “Wilbur told me it was nice. Peaceful. So I decided, why not? All my friends are here. Might as well stay. There’s nothing else out there for me, so.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Quackity nodded. He didn’t really know what to say to that. He doesn’t really know much about her. So he’d make small talk. Just to get through the next few days. Just until Quackity could fuck off this world and head back into his life of eternal amusement and nonstop rapture. He didn’t like it, being so tethered to his body like this.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Tommy said I could come but I wasn’t allowed to stay,” Quackity said. “In L’manberg, I mean. Said I didn’t belong there? Whatever that meant.” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>He looked back up at the walls. Walls that kept people out. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Well, it’s Tommy,” Niki said. “You know how he is.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I know,” Quackity said, lips pursed into a thin line. “Doesn’t make it feel any less wrong, though. I mean those walls… it feels like they’re just caging themselves in, ya know? Looks like they want everyone to stay outside. That people aren’t welcome. Having the walls made out of fucking blackstone doesn’t help, either.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Niki looked up at him. “Do you know what the walls mean, Quackity?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Like symbolism or some shit?” Quackity asked. “Fuck if I know, Niki. All I know is that it looks like shit.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>She rolled her eyes. “Safety, Quackity. That’s what Wilbur told me. It’s to keep danger out.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Danger meaning everyone else?” Quackity asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“That’s not what I mean,” Niki said. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Oh, I know,” Quackity said. “But it could be what Wilbur meant.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Niki doesn’t say anything to that. How could she? She wasn’t the one unwelcome. Quackity sighed. He wasn’t really used to this. To seriousness. To a life like this. The last time he faced death… well, he wasn’t doing that ever again.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Look, I’m not trying to be an asshole, alright? Like, good on them that they’re free, but it just looks like their policies could use some work.” Easy for him to say. He knows that. “I’m just saying.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“I know,” Niki said. “But give it a chance. Maybe after this Wilbur will open up the borders. They just won a war. Let’s give it some time.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Quackity nods. “I could do that.” He adjusts his bag strap. “Do we have any lodging or am I going to have to build the most scuffed dirt shack ever?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Wilbur said they lived in a van for a good while, so. What do you think?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Quackity snorted. “Man, people can’t even offer good housing, huh? I’ll give them zero stars.” He turned his head around, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Didn’t they invite more people? I heard that, uh,Techno was coming.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Technoblade. God. That fucking menace. Quackity shuddered just thinking about him. It was one of the last times he’s faced meaningless death. The death didn’t matter, but the pain and the fear always lingered. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>He wasn’t going to fuck with Techno.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>He cleared his throat. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“So, yeah. Do you think he’s gonna stay wherever we’re staying, or…?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Well,” Niki said. “I think he’d just do whatever? He might stay here, though, even after the celebration. We just don’t know.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Quackity fucking hoped not. If Techno stayed, Quackity was getting the hell out of here. Bye bye, SMP. Back to his realm. Back to where he belonged. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Niki walked onward. Quackity followed. He stopped near the podium, sliding into a seat. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“So what are you gonna do here?” Quackity asked. “You know, after the festivities.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“I think I’ll start a bakeshop,” Niki said, hands at her hips. She smiled at him. “It’s a hobby of mine.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Pretty sweet of her.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Nice,” He said. He squinted, looking up at the hill behind the podium. Someone was up there. “Hey!”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>The person turned around, red and blue shades propped on his face. He hopped down the hill and walked over to the stage, leaning over the edge. “Oh, hey Niki!” He said, waving at Niki. “Uh… you’re Quackity, right?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Yeah?” Quackity said. “And you are?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Jack Manifold,” He said, jumping off the podium, landing on the pond below. He brushed off his pants, walking over to Quackity and offering a hand. “Nice to meet you, man.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“When did you get here?” Niki asked. Jack turned to look at her, lowering his hand. Quackity didn’t shake it. “We didn’t see you at spawn.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Oh, I got here a few days ago,” Jack said. He gestured to somewhere behind them. Quackity turned. “That over there is my house. You could stay there, if you like. I’m not in this world often, so.” He kicked at the grass. “L’manberg’s pretty neat, huh?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Yeah,” Quackity said. “I guess.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Niki gave Quackity a dirty look before turning to look at Jack. “Do you know where Tommy and Tubbo are? I wanted to give them my congratulations. You know, before the actual party.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“You sure you don’t want to go see Wilbur first?” Quackity asked, smirking. “Tommy tells me lots of things about the two of you.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Niki flushed. “There is nothing between me and Wilbur,” She said. “Tommy’s just silly.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Quackity chuckled. “Okay. Sure.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Niki rolled her eyes. Jack looked between her and Quackity.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Uh… yeah, I’m pretty sure Tommy and Tubbo are over at their bench,” Jack said. “It’s the big day tomorrow, so. They might just want to hang out together.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Niki nodded. “Alright. Well, I guess we’re the guests so far, right? We might as well just stick around each other until then.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“What, like a pity hangout?” Quackity asked. He laughed. “That sounds lame. I’m in.”</span>
  <span><br/>
<br/>
</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looked up at the sky. Just a bit longer before he gets to leave. He’s just got to hold out, then he can fuck off and not have to worry about this terrifying closeness to reality anymore.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Just a few days.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tonight seems to stretch out even longer than the previous. Eret turns in his bed, clutching his blanket with an almost desperate grip. It’s cold. </span>
  <span><br/>
<br/>
</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If this were any other world, he would hear the familiar hiss of phantoms right outside. But they weren’t here. Not since Dream blinked them out of existence. It offered Eret some reprieve some nights, but right now he wanted the noise.  He must’ve been used to it. Used to chaos. Used to fighting. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Fuck it.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>He sat up, rubbing his eyes and picking up his shades from his bedside. He pulls them on, standing up and throwing his cloak over his shoulders. He’d be wearing the uniform tomorrow. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Tomorrow… that was the big day, wasn’t it? L’manberg’s big day.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Wilbur’s </span>
  </em>
  <span>big day.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eret shook his head, pushing open the door and letting the cold wind of the night hit him square in the face. He shuddered, but pushed on.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Seems like this was just routine for him at this point. Walk out at night. Think over the war. Imagine what-ifs. Wallow in what could have been.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was terrible. It made him feel worse than he already did.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>He pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a sigh. No. He wasn’t going to do that today. It’s done, it’s happened. He’s not king (as painful as that was to admit) and he’s stuck pretending to be the same loyal little soldier he was back in the war. That’s the scenario.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>He can’t let himself be swayed by bitterness for the rest of time. That wouldn’t do Eret any good.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>So why does he still feel so restless?</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>He pondered on everything. Tried to detach his own feelings from it. He understands Wilbur’s actions, understands the man’s negotiations were what Wilbur thought was best for L’manberg. Not what was best for Eret, certainly, but Wilbur would never have allowed Eret to have betrayed them if he knew. Speaking of… did Wilbur know? That’s been nagging at Eret ever since Wilbur blacked out (not to mention Tubbo’s earlier theory of prophetic vision). Wilbur was no stranger to prophecy</span>
  <span>—did the gods whisper of Eret’s betrayal in Wilbur’s ear? Is that why Wilbur wouldn’t look at him?</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>But then, why avoid Fundy? Why curse Dream’s name one day and compromise with him the next? It doesn’t make sense.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Wilbur spoke venom when he first woke up, but then he suddenly acted nice. Acted like he normally did. God, this was beyond Eret’s knowledge. He should tell Tubbo, but that meant admitting to his almost-betrayal. No way Eret was going to do that. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur talked to him, sometimes. Smiled at Eret, though it looked like there was something knowing in those eyes, taunting, as if goading Eret to admit to his mistakes.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>It bothered Eret that the others seemed to have dropped this matter. That Wilbur had gotten them all to either forget or ignore it. But Eret can’t say anything, because he doesn’t know what Wilbur knows.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He furrows his brow. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eret can’t help but feel like he was missing something. Something important. A piece of this he doesn’t remember, not right now. A piece of this puzzle that might help him understand the enigma that is Wilbur’s mind. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Though he could just be overthinking this. As emotional as Tommy was, he wasn’t stupid. As agreeable as Tubbo was, he was still logical. As angry at Fundy was, he still seemed to trust Wilbur’s actions right now.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Trust.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Is that what he was missing? Trust?</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Is… is that the problem?</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>He stopped in his tracks.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Eret looked at his hands.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>He lacked faith. Lacked trust. But everyone else had what he did not. And they believed in Wilbur. They gave up so much for this nation, for the ideals Wilbur had given them. And L’manberg had won. Wilbur had gotten through to Dream. They won.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Because everyone trusted Wilbur.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Everyone except him.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>His tongue felt dry. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Would they have lost if he went through with it? </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Is that why he was so restless?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>...should he just come clean?</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>He looked back at his hands. They were shaking. Why were they shaking?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wait.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His eyes widened. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“...the TNT,” He muttered. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Fuck.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>It’s still there. It’s not enough to kill everyone, Eret thinks, but it’s enough to destroy a good chunk of the land. Wilbur doesn’t know. Dream could set it off at any time. It was the perfect time, too, with everyone inside during the celebration. Eret wouldn’t put it past Dream to do that. Dream had no honor. Dream played dirty.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>He whipped his head around. There’s still time to get rid of it. He had until morning. And if he doesn’t, he’ll ask the others for help when they wake up. If they ask questions...</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Then he’ll come clean.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Right. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>That was the plan, then. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eret ran back to L’manberg, heart pounding in his chest and a clock ticking down his head.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur stood in front of the mirror, adjusting his coat. He looked dignified in the uniform, almost unalike the skittish and despondent man he used to be. He looked mature. Looked… grown up. Unalike the man of Newfoundland, so impatient and so frail. Unlike the kid he used to be, honest yet with mischief in his eyes, the kid with a penchant for clever jokes with a crude punchline. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Wilbur adjusted his tie. “I know you’re there.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He sounded curt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Technoblade fished out his flask from under his cloak, downing the milk. The invisibility faded and there Techno stood, regal as ever, albeit with more scars than he had than the last time he saw Wilbur.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>That’s fine. It looks like Wilbur has a few scars of his own, with the way Wilbur squares his shoulders, the way Wilbur’s eyes look at Techno, the way he carries himself now.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Wilbur didn’t look too surprised at Techno’s arrival. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Were you hiding from me?” Wilbur asked, turning back to the mirror. He was adjusting his cuffs. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Nah,” Techno said, making his way to sit down on the bed. He leaned back, pressing his palms against the mattress. “Just wanted to see how long it’d take you to notice.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Wilbur snorted. “I know what kind of particles invisibility leaves, Techno. I’m an alchemist. It’d be embarrassing if I didn’t notice.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Technoblade shrugged. “It was worth a try.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>They fall into silence. Techno watched as Wilbur fussed over his appearance, shoving on boots and putting on cufflinks and brushing off any lint that may have gotten on his outfit. Appearances meant a lot. Techno knew that. So he doesn’t comment. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“It’s really glad to see you, Techno,” Wilbur said, turning to look at him. He smiled, and Techno could tell it looked strained. The smile fell a moment later, Wilbur’s eyes darting down. Even now, with Wilbur’s ensemble, the way his eyes looked down looked familiar. There was a familiar sort of nervousness there, one of childishness and worry. “I didn’t expect you to come.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Techno snorted. “Wouldn’t miss your big day for anything else.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Wilbur’s eyes snapped back up. There was hopefulness in his eyes now, though there was still a hint of insecurity. “Is Phil—?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“No,” Techno said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Wilbur turned his head back to look at the mirror. His face hardened. “Of course. Why did I expect anything more?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sorry. You know how he is. Busy. Off in his own world.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Right. Busy.” Wilbur adjusted his coat once more, his movement harsh and angry. Techno pursed his lips. “Couldn’t see his son’s ‘big day’.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“You know it’s not like that,” Techno said, frowning. “He’d come if he could.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“If he wanted,” Wilbur said, moving away from the mirror and to the vanity pushed against the wall. He picked up a paper on the desk. “He would have come.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Techno notes the scathing tone. Wilbur’s words were sharp, his shoulders tense. Wilbur’s relationship with Phil has always been tricky. Techno never got in the middle of it. Too complicated. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>So he doesn’t comment now. He didn’t before. He wasn’t going to start now.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Technoblade glanced at Wilbur. “What’s that in your hand?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“My speech,” Wilbur said, the resentment in his tone lifting slightly at the topic change. “Just going through it before the festivities. Just making sure I have everything in order.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>He trails off, lifting his head up. Techno just looked at Wilbur, standing up from the bed. “I’m sure it’ll be fine,” He said, shrugging. “You’re good with words, Will. They’ll eat it up.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Wilbur nods. “Still, it doesn’t hurt to look through it beforehand. Everything has to be perfect, Technoblade.” He looks back at the mirror. “Today needs to be perfect.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Techno doesn’t say anything at that. The need for perfection, the need to be remembered, to be at the top of it all—that just seemed to run through their family’s veins. Wilbur always had that need. That ambition. But he’s never shown it like this, never had the incessant compulsion to act on that desire. Never had it in his eyes. Techno understood Wilbur’s need for control. But he also understood the restlessness it brought. The unease perfection brought.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>He wonders how long it’s been for Wilbur.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Wilbur,” Techno said after a moment.. “Are you happy with this?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Of course I am.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You know you could lose it all.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur seemed to hesitate. They both know what Technoblade was talking about. This place. This land. The nation Wilbur created. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I do.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Techno turned to look at Wilbur. Wilbur wasn’t looking directly at Techno. He had his eyes trained on the mirror, his gaze on Techno’s reflection. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“And you’re fine with that?” Technoblade asks, as if challenging him.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Wilbur’s words are quick. “Are you?” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“...if it makes you happy,” Techno said simply. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Then that solves that, doesn’t it?” Wilbur said, moving to sit down on the chair in front of the vanity. Technoblade doesn’t say anything, but he keeps his eyes on Wilbur.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“...I miss him, Techno,” Wilbur said quietly, staring at his reflection. “Do you think he’d be proud of me?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“He always has.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Wilbur turned, finally looking back at Technoblade. He looks tired. Wilbur opens his mouth as if to say something, but Techno turns and heads out to the door. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>He stops at the door frame, turning his head for a moment to look at Wilbur. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He hasn’t seen Wilbur in forever. It’s been long. Perhaps even longer for Wilbur. Even if it doesn’t look like Wilbur’s aged a day, Techno could see years weighing down on his brother. Maybe decades. Centuries. He wouldn’t know. All he recognizes is the familiar fatigue on Wilbur’s shoulders. Carrying the weight of everyone’s problems. The world on his shoulders. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“See you later, Atlas.”</span>
  <span></span><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Techno steps out, and he could feel Wilbur’s eyes on him as he walks off.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>This chapter is very unedited and it's extra long to make up for last chapter haha. Thanks to everyone who commented, it really keeps me writing more :D (side note, i cant fucking believe they tricked us into hoping for a beach episode and instead gave us PAIN)<br/>Also for some context since I’m unsure if I’ll ever bring it up in the fic, but I’m going with a Dionysus-esque vibe for Quackity. His life prior to the SMP is essentially someone who actively chooses to live in realms without worrying about surviving, and he kinda sets up performance competitions for mortal people for his own pleasure (inspired by his got talent videos) I also just have to mention that I actually have another time travel idea planned but I might just do it as a one-shot/spin-off of this fic. It’s kind of the same concept but exile!Tommy being sent to the past by Dream to compromise the rebellion and also a ton of angst. Would anyone read that?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. interlude v</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>brotherly bonding.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>A baby’s cries tear through the walls. He groaned, pulling his pillow over his ears. The sound of the shriek cuts through anyway, and with an annoyed huff Techno stands up. He steps out of his room, clenching his jaw at the sound of the baby’s crying. God, he hated children. It’s partly why he was never trusted well enough to be alone with Tommy. Not that he’d trust himself with Tommy, either.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He grits his teeth as Tommy lets out another loud wail, one that was particularly shrill and made Techno twitch. A voice in his head cackles while another hisses, echoing Techno’s own annoyance. The sounds overlap in his mind, cheers and jeers a discordant mess of noise. He sucks in air through gritted teeth, squeezing his eyes shut, trying to drown out the sound, focusing on the pounding of his own heart. They were always louder when he was tired, too tired to mute them and too tired to focus on anything else. They always demanded to be heard.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He was getting better at ignoring them, though, and as he let out an exhale and opened his eyes, the voices died down, still present but muffled. Techno let himself relax. Focus on the real, Phil had taught him. Sift through the noise. </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>He made his way across the hallway and weaved through the sounds. </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>“Hey Wilbur, can you get Tommy to shut</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>—”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Techno suddenly halted in front of Wilbur’s door. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up as his ears perked, hearing a low and long creak from behind him. He turned his head around, squinting as he saw the faintest hint of grey in the air, like soot and ash falling from the sky.</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Techno frowned, glancing at Wilbur’s door behind him. The door was ajar. </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Techno’s eyes widened, swinging the door open, and he found Wilbur’s room empty, his sheets strewn over his bed. </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Technoblade whirled around, hearing footsteps hurrying away, and he followed the sound, ignoring the snarky voice in his head that commented, ‘he’s invis, loser’. Tommy’s cries resonated through the walls, and Techno let out a noise of frustration, trying to concentrate.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He ran down the steps, keeping his eye trained on the potion particles. He watched as the knob turned, and he reached an arm out, grabbing blindly. Techno felt his fingers hold onto fabric and he didn’t let go. </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>“Where do you think you’re going?”</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>“Techno, let go of me!” Wilbur whined, kicking at Techno. Techno felt the kick, letting out a noise as he did, but didn’t let go. His grip just tightened. “You’re supposed to be asleep!”</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>“Could say the same about you,” Techno said, unimpressed. “Now answer the question.”</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Techno felt Wilbur pull himself away harshly. Techno could see the invisibility begin to lose effect, Wilbur’s outline beginning to materialize in the dark. “None of your business.”</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>“You’re sneaking out,” Technoblade said. “I think that is my business. You know what it’s like at night.”</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>“I can protect myself,” Wilbur said. Techno could see him pout, Wilbur’s form now a translucent image. In the darkness, he looked almost like a ghost. He crossed his arms and looked down at the floor. “Despite what dad thinks, I don’t need you to keep an eye on me, you know.”</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Stubborn as always. Techno rolled his eyes. “Yeah, and I’d let you do that if you weren’t being irresponsible.”</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>“I’m not being irresponsible,” Wilbur insisted. “I know what I’m doing.”</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>“I find that hard to believe,” Techno said dryly. “Come on now, upstairs before Phil finds out.”</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Wilbur stayed rooted to his spot. “No.”</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>“Oh come on, Wilbur,” Techno groaned. “Where are you even going this late at night?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Wilbur glanced at the front door before looking back at Techno. His form shimmered and solidified, and Techno raised a brow at the book in Wilbur’s hands. Wilbur tensed, pulling the book behind him. “I-I was just going out for a walk,” Wilbur said quickly, voice trembling, as if unprepared for the question. “I like the stars.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Uh-huh,” Technoblade said. “And it has nothing to do with the obviously stolen book in your hand?”</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>“What book?” Wilbur asked unconvincingly. Techno looked at Wilbur, an unimpressed look on his face. Wilbur’s nervous smile fell, and Techno sighed. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Hand it over,” Techno said, letting out his hand. Wilbur’s eyes darted over to Techno’s hand and back at the book he was holding onto. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Wilbur’s gaze flitted over back to the door. He looked back at Techno.</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>“Wilbur,” Techno said firmly. “Don’t.”</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>“I</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>—” Wilbur’s hold on the book tightened. His eyes looked down before looking back up at Technoblade. He looked smaller than he normally looked, shrinking under Techno’s gaze. Techno sighed.</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>“Not that I’m a stickler for the rules, but you know I gotta,” Techno said. “Phil will be really pissed off if he found out I let you out on your own.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Wilbur shifted his gaze away. “I know.” </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Techno took a step forward. His hand moves, placing it on Wilbur’s own. He gently pries the book off Wilbur, who doesn’t fight it. Wilbur looks dejected. Techno looks back down at the book. He lets out another sigh. The things he does for his brother. “Look—we can talk about it in the morning,” Techno said. “Okay?”</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Wilbur nods. “Okay.”</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
<br/>
</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He offers a hand. “C’mon. Both of us need to get some sleep. And someone really needs to get Tommy to shut up.”</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Wilbur laughed softly at that. “Right,” He said. Wilbur took Techno’s hand, and Techno led him back to the staircase. Wilbur took a glance back at the door before rushing up.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Good job, the voice in his head cheers. He ignores it.</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>As Wilbur disappeared off into the hall, Techno took a look back at the book in his hands. There were notes sticking out of the tome. It was written in the old runic languages. Wr</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>æcsí, the cover reads. Peregrination, he translates. The runic word for journey, or travel. He frowns. Wilbur was still on that, huh?</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span> He flips through the pages, stopping at a page that seemed to be marked. There were papers tucked into the page. </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Techno’s eyes read through the pages. The language was a bit difficult to parse considering it was ancient, but he was well-read in the runic language enough from his experience with enchanting.</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>The word </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>edsceaft was written in enchanted ink, purple and shimmering in the dark. </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>His eyes widened.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Edsceaft—new creation.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The practice of creating realms. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The sound of a rustle broke him away from his thoughts. Someone was here. Techno looked up, staring at the door. Wilbur wanted to go outside. He had been looking from Techno to the door. Techno shut the book, walking over the door and swinging it open.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>No one was out there.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>Techno frowned. He looked from left to right, trying to see if there was someone outside. It was quiet. Nothing. Huh. He must have been imagining things. He looked down at the book. There were more pressing matters. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>As he turned around, he must’ve imagined the shadow that darted across the path in his peripheral.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur was fishing through his ender chest. Technoblade just watched as Wilbur tossed out items, rummaging through his inventory. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“What are you looking for?” Techno asked, raising a brow. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Something to help us,” Wilbur said, lifting his head up from the chest to look at Techno. “I understand my present self is more than willing to use destructive means to ensure victory but at the moment I’m lacking the rage to want to go through that route, so. I’m trying to see if there’s anything I’ve collected through the years that could help us.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“And you think books will help,” Techno said, less of a question and more of a deadpan statement.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“You’re well read yourself,” Wilbur pointed out. “You of all people should know the benefits of seeking wisdom from literature.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Except I’m not under any delusions that reading about ancient Greek tragedies will offer any sort of practical advice,” He said. “Ancient wisdom is wisdom, sure, but it doesn’t give us solutions, you know.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Wilbur scoffed, tossing a book behind him as he kept searching in his chest. “Doesn’t hurt to read, considering I’m pretty much stuck here until I remember.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Techno crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. “Do you want me to drill you on current events to try to jog your memory?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Sounds tempting, but no,” Wilbur said dryly. “Besides, I think hearing about whatever atrocities I wanted to commit is just going to upset me. Ignorance is bliss and all that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wilbur sounded bitter. He’s been like this ever since Techno admitted Wilbur had gone down a destructive path. Techno didn’t give Wilbur any of the specific details, but the confession was enough for Wilbur to make his own assumptions. Though this was the first time Wilbur’s ever actually fully admitted to disliking his actions.  </span>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
<br/>
</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t really mean that,” Technoblade said. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Except I do,” Wilbur said, rolling his eyes. He took out a book from the chest, examining the cover before throwing it behind him. “I’m still rather cross with you about that, you know.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Techno let out a noise of confusion. “Heh?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Enabling my behavior,” Wilbur said. Oh, that. Right. His expression must have betrayed him because Wilbur let out an annoyed huff and turned back to the ender chest. “And you asked me to </span>
  <em>
    <span>trust </span>
  </em>
  <span>you.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“You were the one saying that you got why I hid the truth,” Techno said. Irritation flared up in him, and he looked away, avoiding the urge to roll his eyes. Not that Wilbur would see them, anyway, considering the mask. “I get why you’re upset but don’t pin the blame on me, Wilbur.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Wilbur pinched the bridge of his nose and let out an exhale. “You’re making it really hard not to,” He said. “But fine. I’ll accept the fact that yes, I did say I trusted you. Doesn’t make this any less upsetting.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Techno snorted. “Everything about this situation is upsetting, Will.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“I made a deal with the bloody fucking devil, Techno,” Wilbur shot back. “I took it in stride because I thought I was at least </span>
  <em>
    <span>reasonable </span>
  </em>
  <span>in this future, but apparently I’m not. And you just what, went along with it?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“To be fair, when you’re dedicated to doing something, there really isn’t anything stopping you,” Technoblade said. “And I wouldn’t call you unreasonable. There’s a lot of reasons why you want to destroy Manberg.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Reasons you won’t tell me?” Wilbur asked snarkily.</span>
</p><p>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Techno groaned. “Wilbur, I’ll point out that you’re being unreasonable right now.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“No, I’m just upset,” Wilbur said. “Let me have this. I’m trying to cope with the apparent loss of my nation and the fact that I’ve just given up all hope.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Techno huffed but didn’t say anything. Wilbur kept searching through his belongings.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was a bit frustrating, considering before this Wilbur was saying how much he trusted Techno’s judgment, but now when faced with the truth (or parts of it, at least) he was pissed off and partly blaming Techno. Technoblade understood that logically, Wilbur’s annoyance made sense, but it still ticked him off. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Trust. Right. Whatever. There was no room for trust in Pogtopia. Not with Technoblade around. Not when Wilbur was putting his faith in chaos-driven madmen who wanted nothing more than to watch the country burn. Quite frankly, trust was for losers. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Blood for the blood god, </span>
  </em>
  <span>the audience in his mind screeches.</span>
  <em>
    <span> Let Manberg crumble.</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>He had been so patient before. Been so understanding. Tried to work with Wilbur’s condition, tried to help. But there were more pressing matters than Wilbur’s damn amnesia.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He pushed himself off the wall. “I’m gonna go.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Wilbur whipped his head around. “What? Why?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Each second we waste down here is another second that we lose,” Techno said, throwing his cloak over his shoulders. “You can stay here if you want, but I can’t stay idle.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Wilbur looked down at the book in his hands. “...you’re still going to try to destroy the country, right?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Not like you can stop me,” Techno said, shrugging. “You’ll get over it.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <em>
    <span>I forgive Technoblade</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Wilbur’s voice echoes in his memory, cheery and gleeful, eager to forget. Wilbur will get over it. Techno was sure of it. And Wilbur will understand why the destruction of his former nation was a necessity. He wasn’t unreasonable. It just looks bad now.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>He’ll understand. Eventually.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wilbur looks up at Technoblade, regarding him for a moment before closing the ender chest and getting up. He brushed off dirt from his pants. “...fine. I’ll come with you.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“And you won’t try to sabotage me?” Technoblade asked, raising a brow.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Wilbur huffed. “You’re so paranoid, Techno. As ticked off as I am, I do still trust you, albeit a bit more hesitantly. While I don’t agree with your ethics, I know you’re not someone who would just blindly do this. You’re smart. And I must have understood whatever goal you have, so.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Techno stared at Wilbur for a second, before smirking and letting out a chuckle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“See? I knew you’d be reasonable.”</span>
  <span></span><br/>
<span><br/>
</span>
  <span>And then he turns, not seeing the dread on Wilbur’s face.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>This chapter kinda got away from me, I’ll be honest. I’m a bit unsure about my characterization here, but that’s okay. This was originally supposed to be longer, but considering that it’s now 3:35 am and it took me like five hours to write this I decided to cut it off here haha. Hope you enjoyed!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. independence</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>welcome to the festival.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Tommy looked out into the distance, goosebumps rising as the breeze brushed against his skin. He held onto the side of the bench, resting a leg over his knee. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Today is going to be perfect, he thinks, running a hand through windblown hair. There was a sense of unease in his stomach, and with his knee shaking from underneath his leg he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t the least bit nervous for today. Everyone (well, mostly everyone) was here. Enemies and friends alike—fuck, even people Tommy hasn’t seen in what feels like forever. He bit the inside of his lip. He’d be fine—charisma was his best trait, after all—but he can’t help but worry that something was going to go completely off the fucking rails.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Assuming everything would go wrong was a habit that had been drilled into him, though. He had to have been on edge, else he’d be dead. Even taking the briefest moment to relax could end in an arrow in his chest, a sword to the gut, an axe to the head—expect the worst, Wilbur had taught him. And Tommy did. That was probably why he was so restless, gripping the bench nervously, clenching and unclenching his fist, a thin layer of cold sweat on his palms. He felt cold, the nervousness wrapping itself around him, a faint chill around his chest that made him want to puke.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you okay?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tommy turned around, netherite sword materializing in his hand as he swung it on instinct, Tubbo narrowly dodging the blade by ducking. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh,” Tommy said. He let the sword disappear from his hands as his shoulders relaxed. “Sorry.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s okay,” Tubbo said, taking a seat beside Tommy. “I guess you’re nervous, huh?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tommy snorted, crossing his arms and leaning against the bench’s armrest. “Figured that much, Captain Obvious?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tubbo glanced at Tommy. “No need to be sarcastic, Toms.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tommy let out a sigh. He rubbed the back of his neck. “Sorry,” He said. “Bit on edge.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tubbo hummed. “That’s fine,” He said. “Today’s a big day, after all. I still need to double check if everything’s in order, or if Fundy’s been snacking on the food again.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tommy snorted. “Has he really?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tubbo dragged a hand down his face, groaning. “He’s been hoarding the food like a bloody raccoon,” He said. “I’ve had to ask Niki for help in making cakes just to make up for it.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Wilbur really needs to get his son on a lead,” Tommy said, snickering. “I swear, where the hell did Wilbur get that fox, anyway? Man’s just shows up after fuckin’ forever with a </span>
  <em>
    <span>kid</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Didn’t Wilbur fuck a fish?” Tubbo asked innocently enough that Tommy choked on air, coughing and trying to take in air. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What the </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” Tommy said, bewildered. “He—wh—how does that even work?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, Tommy, when a man and a fish love each other very much—” Tubbo started, before Tommy shoved his hand in front of Tubbo’s face, shaking his head.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Tubbo, please shut the fuck up,” Tommy said, trying not to laugh. “I refuse to think about Wilbur having sex with a fish, I’m pure, Tubbo, I respect women.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tubbo pulled Tommy’s hand away from his mouth. “That’s all you’re going to think about later,” Tubbo said, giggling childishly. “Wilbur in bed, candles all lit up around him, and there enters his lover, a literal salmon—”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Tubbo, Tubbo please, shut up,” Tommy said, leaning forward. He let out a laugh despite himself, some of the tenseness from earlier lifting from his shoulders. Tubbo laughed beside him. The nausea still sat in his chest, but Tubbo’s presence and dumb quips certainly helped. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Man,” Tubbo said, after a while staring out into the distance. “We really did it, huh?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tommy’s laughter died down, a smile lingering on his face. “Yeah,” He said, looking down at his hands. “Guess we did.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>As the light moment ended, the unease snaked its way back to Tommy. It had been lifted slightly, but it was still </span>
  <em>
    <span>there</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he still felt sick and nervous. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tubbo turned his head to look at Tommy, concern etched on his features. “You okay, big man?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Tommy said, blinking. He looked at Tubbo. “Just nervous.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You’ve said that,” Tubbo said. “But yeah. I get it.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Today’s just such a big day,” Tommy said, sighing. He leaned back on the bench and darted his eyes down. “You know? Like, as much as Wilbur says he trusts Dream—which, by the way, I still don’t get, but okay—there’s still this small chance that green bastard’s got something planned. Or, well, ya know, just things going off the rails the way we always do, yeah?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I know,” Tubbo said. “I’m sure it’ll be fine. Wilbur has everything under control, surely, even with his son’s rabid habits. Besides, if he’s got </span>
  <em>
    <span>you </span>
  </em>
  <span>managed, I’m sure he can handle the festivities, even if they were to go awry.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“And what is that supposed to mean?” Tommy asked lightly, acting offended.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You, TommyInnit, are a literal wild child,” Tubbo said. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I am not!” Tommy said, indignant. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tubbo just gives him an unimpressed look.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“...alright, maybe I am, but that’s not the point,” Tommy said. He ran a hand across his hair, letting out a sigh. That dread wouldn’t leave his shoulders. His instincts shot through the roof. Restless. He was always restless. “Don’t you just feel like something’s going to go wrong?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, yeah,” Tubbo said, shrugging. “Things always do. But that’s life, innit? Plans never work out, but we always manage to get through it, Tommy. I mean, things aren’t so bad when we’ve got each other, right?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tubbo smiled. Tommy rolled his eyes before grinning back at his friend, elbowing Tubbo. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re a sap,” Tommy said. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“And you’re not?” Tubbo shot back.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tommy laughed. “Piss off,” He said. “Know what, this feels like a music disc moment. Give me a sec, I’m gonna go get mellohi from my ender chest.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tommy got up, and the unease followed him as he turned from Tubbo’s gentle gaze and soft smile to walk to his house. Tommy could feel Tubbo’s eyes on him. Tubbo must be concerned. He always was, even if there wasn’t any reason to be. Wilbur once said it made Tubbo too soft. Tommy had disagreed, believing Tubbo’s kindness to be a ray of light amongst the cynicism and paranoia, but faced with Wilbur’s victory… he wondered if there had been any truth to that. Tubbo’s optimism was nice but was it needed now, when the nation was arguably at its weakest? Open to friends and enemies alike?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tommy rested his hand on the lid of his ender chest. It glowed ominously under his fingertips. The obsidian that made up the chest was cool to touch as all things ender always were. Cold and glacial in a way that struck the soul, and yet it shot through the body like fire. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Cold</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he recalls Wilbur whispering. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m so cold.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He opened the chest, taking out a disc. As he did so, he felt himself tense up on instinct. He could lose this disc if someone got a lucky shot right now, if someone barged in and swung a sword through Tommy, if—</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hello, Tommy,” He hears, and Tommy whirls around, enchanted sword appearing in his hand on instinct.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What are you doing here,” Tommy spits, glowering.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dream chuckles, leaning against a wall. Covered in shadows, as he always was. Armored to the teeth, as he always was. Wielding an axe, as he always was. The enchantments glimmered in the dark, incandescent purple lighting Dream’s mask ominously. “I’m not here to fight, you know,” He said. “Just wanted to give you my congratulations.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, well you can do that during the festivities, prick,” Tommy snapped. “Get the fuck out of my house.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dream tilted his head to the side. “Is that any way to treat a guest?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re the one who walked into my house and made himself at home,” Tommy said. “What do you want.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Nothing,” Dream said. Tommy narrowed his eyes. Dream raised his hands up defensively. “Really.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Liar,” Tommy said. “You want the disc.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Tommy, I couldn't care less about the disc,” Dream said. “That’s yours. Besides, trying to take that from you would clearly violate the treaty I signed with Wilbur. I understand you still see me as a bad guy, but I’m not the enemy here, Tommy. There aren’t any more enemies. Relax. I’m just here as a friend.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tommy furrowed his brow, staring at Dream for a long moment. His grip on the handle of his sword was tight. He didn’t want to relent—Dream was still a wrong’un, he still fucked Tommy and Tubbo over time and time again, even before all this, before drugs and flags and independence—but Wilbur shows up at the front of his mind.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Everything I do, everything I’ve done… it’s for this country.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Wilbur seems to trust Dream. If he does, he must have a reason, surely? And Tommy… as much as he wants deck Dream, he can’t jeopardize whatever Wilbur is doing. He said he’d trust Wilbur. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He lowers his sword. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>What was Tommy so worried about? Things would be fine. Dream can’t do anything to them—he was bound by the words </span>
  <em>
    <span>he </span>
  </em>
  <span>wrote on the treaty. They were independent. He has his discs. Everything he’s ever needed was right here. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>And it was all because of Wilbur.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>...he wasn’t going to be the bratty temper-driven upstart everyone already thinks he was. He’d make Wilbur proud. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You can be my friend, but I won’t be yours,” Tommy said. “Now get out of here. I have a disc to listen to.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dream nods. “I’ll see you later, Tommy.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tommy walks back to the bench and slots the music disc into the jukebox. Tubbo lifts his head up, raising a brow as Tommy slid back into his seat.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Took you long enough,” He said. “What happened?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Let’s just listen,” Tommy said. “I need a breather.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tubbo nodded. Tommy glanced at Tubbo. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“...you and me against the world, yeah?” Tommy asked.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tubbo raised a brow, but didn’t question it. “...yeah,” He said. “Always.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He smiled. He’s got everything he needs right here.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>Eret felt sweat run down his brow. His leg shook as he rested a hand on his knee. The festivities should begin soon. The others were all around, laughing and smiling and joking around, and he should take part, but he was nervous. No, scratch that—he was damn near terrified. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He didn’t even notice as Fundy slid into a seat next to him. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yo,” Fundy said, tearing his canines into a piece of bread. “Eret? You doing good, man?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Eret jumped, turning to look at Fundy. “I—well, I guess not,” He admits, rubbing a hand behind his head. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Why not?” Fundy asked, tilting his head curiously. “It’s independence day. I mean, as fucked as the last few days were for me, today should still be fun.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I know,” Eret said, sighing as he turned to look at his feet. “Still. I’m nervous, I guess?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“For what?” Fundy questioned. “It’s not like you’re saying a speech? You’re just supposed to show up.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The fox turned his head to look over behind the two of them, where Quackity was currently engaged in a discussion with Technoblade. Though discussion seemed to be generous, Eret thinks, considering how Techno seemed to be threatening Quackity with a gleaming sword. “...what are they doing.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Fundy shrugged. “Honestly? Best not to step in when Techno’s involved. I do </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>want to be on that guy’s bad side.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“No kidding,” Eret muttered. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Fundy threw the rest of the bread into his mouth, chewing rather loudly. Eret raised a brow. “What?” Fundy said, voice muffled from the food still in his mouth. He swallowed.  “I was hungry.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Did you… steal that?” Eret asked, frowning. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Stealing is a big word,” Fundy said. “I prefer the phrase ‘borrowing indefinitely’.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“...so you stole it. Got it.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Fundy chuckled. “Look, it’s not stealing if you don’t get caught,” He points out. “Which I have not. Been caught, that is. Anyone who says I have is lying to you.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I didn’t ask, but okay,” Eret said. Fundy’s antics were a relief, but it hardly assuaged Eret’s worries. He said he’d come clean today. He stared at his hands. Gunpowder was stuck underneath chipped nails. He hardly got any sleep, too. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The guilt weighed down on him. It always did. Sometimes he pretended it didn’t, when he would focus on being resentful and envious and bitter. But today, with fear shooting across him, he had no room to be angry. The regret wormed its way underneath the fear, like a heavy weight that tugged at him.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He didn’t like it. But he was too tired to try to feel anything else.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Eret?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>In his peripheral vision, he could see Punz leaning against a wall, staring directly at him. His shoulders tensed. In another direction, he caught Sapnap, casually entering the festival grounds with a sword in hand. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Eret.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He should feel safe, he should feel free, but the walls around them just felt constricting, they felt like they were caging him inside, unable to flee, unable to run, and Dream flashes in his vision, and they were surrounding him, the men he sided with, the men he chose over his allies, and he could feel his throat tightening, and he looked up, seeing Wilbur, who looked disappointed, and he reached out, but Wilbur turns and leaves him in the dust—</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“—</span>
  <em>
    <span>Eret!”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Eret blinked, and he realized Dream was nowhere near, and Wilbur was up on the podium, paying Eret no mind, talking to Tommy. Fundy shoved his face near Eret’s. There was a frown on his face. “You here, bud?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Eret glanced over to where he saw Punz. Punz stood there, smirking as soon as his eyes met Eret’s. Eret quickly turned away, forcing himself to look Fundy in the eyes. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Just overwhelmed,” Eret muttered. He looks back up at the podium.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>...he did say he’d come clean today. His gaze flits from Wilbur—</span>
  <em>
    <span>disappointed</span>
  </em>
  <span>—to Tommy.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tommy would take it well, he thinks. Or at least, better than Wilbur. Wilbur, while more reasonable, felt </span>
  <em>
    <span>off. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He couldn’t risk it. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hold on,” Eret said. “I gotta do something. Be back, okay?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Fundy frowned. “...okay,” He said. “You sure you’ll be okay?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“If I’m being honest… no.” Eret got up. “But it’ll be fine.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It has to. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He made his way up to the podium.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He had to come clean, else the shackles of his secret would remain bound to his wrists, weighing down on him and keeping him from ever being free. It was independence day, after all. And this was his freedom. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“—everyone seems to be here,” Eret overhears Wilbur say. “Except Dream, I think, but he’ll arrive soon.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You sure?” Tommy asked. “I saw him earlier.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tommy’s back was turned to Eret. He wasn’t sure if he imagined Wilbur narrowing his eyes as he saw Eret approach. Eret moved to tap Tommy on the shoulder.“Tommy, Wilbur,” Eret started. “I need to talk to y—”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Speaking of!” Wilbur said, cutting Eret off. Tommy had turned half-way, but at Wilbur’s interruption, the blond turned back to look at him. “Looks like the awaited guest has arrived.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tommy gave Eret an apologetic glance, as if saying, </span>
  <em>
    <span>later. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Wilbur looked over to the audience, where Dream walked through the center aisle, George following close behind. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hello, Dream,” Wilbur said, ignoring Eret completely. Eret frowned, and the resentment that he had been stricken with flares up, but he stamps it out as soon as it does. Wilbur grins, spreading his arms in a welcoming gesture. “Welcome to L’manberg’s Day of Independence!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dream let out a chuckle. Even from down below, he still looked like he towered over them all. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Dream said. “Are we starting?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“As a matter-of-fact, yes!” Wilbur said, smiling. He finally turned to look at Eret, and the almost frosty look in his eyes never failed to make Eret freeze. It was so unalike Wilbur and Eret should be used to it by now but it still made him pause. “Eret, please get off my stage.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Eret scrambled off the podium, rushing back to his seat. Fine. He’ll do it later.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He’ll have all the time in the world to do so, anyway. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>Wilbur cleared his throat, tapping on the microphone. Tommy stood by his side, loyal as ever. “Everyone, please be seated,” He said. “You’ll all be free to partake in the festivities later, after this. It won’t take long.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tommy looked out at the audience. It was quite a turn out. Quackity sat as far away as possible from Techno, who looked bored as he leaned against his chair. Jack didn’t seem to care much, either, but beside him Niki looked eager to hear whatever Wilbur would say. Though all still decked out in full netherite, even their enemies were here. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tommy smirked, his hands behind his back as he turned to look up at Wilbur. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Welcome, everyone, to L’manberg’s Day of Independence,” He said. “Though technically not the day we gained independence, today is officially the day we celebrate our freedom from the rest of SMPlands.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tommy looked back at the audience. Tubbo smiled up at him from his seat, offering Tommy a thumbs up.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“It is not without hardship that we have achieved this freedom,” Wilbur said, charismatic as always. There was a clever gleam in his eyes as he spoke, and Tommy looked up to that—looked up to how Wilbur could command a room to listen. No matter how much Tommy would yell and scream and demand attention they only heard—never listened. “Through strife and blood we fought for this land for the promise of one thing: safety from our oppressors and those who sought to hurt us.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tommy could see Dream lean against his own chair, seemingly unbothered. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“And yet, we could not have obtained this freedom without the very man we fought against,” Wilbur continued, training his eye on Dream. “I once told my men, words, not violence. Dream, who we saw as a villain, had listened to our pleas. Through words, we had gained the thing we wanted the most, all without spilling another drop of blood. This freedom our nation is now built on is founded on this ideal.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Wilbur smiled. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“And despite being our enemy, it would be plenty amiss if I didn’t thank you, Dream,” Wilbur said. “It is with your cooperation that we even have this, in the first place. A nation built on a partnership of trust between the greater SMPlands and L’manberg.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Trust. The one thing that ties this all together. As untrustworthy as Dream was, the fact that this partnership was built on trusting one another fit perfectly with the ideals Wilbur preached—</span>
  <em>
    <span>trust. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>That word echoed in his mind. It was something he thought about as of late. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Though,” Wilbur said, his smile falling. “Not all of us can be trusted, now can we, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Eret?</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tommy froze. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Wilbur, what—”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Wilbur shot Tommy a look. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Not now, Tommy,” He said coldly, turning back to stare at Eret. Tommy felt a shiver run down his spine at Wilbur’s sudden shift in tone—it had been proud, elated even, but then like a switch was turned on, and the warmth from his voice disappeared, replaced by nothing but an icy air that Tommy hadn’t seen since…</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Since the war, when Wilbur woke up from being passed out.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Eret froze under Wilbur’s stare. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Did you really think you could get away with this?” Wilbur asked coolly. He tilted his head, gesturing at Punz, who nodded and walked over to Eret, gripping the other’s arm tightly. Punz dragged Eret over to the podium, and Wilbur stepped aside as Punz pushed Eret down, Eret falling on his knees and lifting his head up to look at Wilbur. His shades were skewed on his face, leaving Eret’s blank eyes exposed. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I—” Eret started, before Punz stepped on Eret’s back, keeping him down.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tommy looked at Eret and back to Wilbur, his eyes wide. “Wilbur, what the hell is going on?” He asked. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Tommy, if you know what’s good for you, you’d shut up,” Wilbur said, looking from Eret to Tommy. His eyes were dark. Tommy shuddered. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tommy closed his mouth.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Wilbur seemed satisfied at that. He looked back at Eret, staring down at him. “Nothing to say, Judas?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Judas?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tommy glanced back at the audience. Everyone seemed shocked—bored faces became curious, eager faces turned to horror—all except Dream. Dream, even from behind the mask, looked smug. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Eret didn’t say anything, his head being kept down by Punz’s trident. Wilbur kneeled down to Eret’s level, grabbing Eret by the face and narrowing his eyes. Eret tried to pull away, but Punz kept him still. Tommy’s instincts yelled at him to do something, to </span>
  <em>
    <span>help his ally</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but was Eret an ally? </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>There are things that I can’t tell you, not yet, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Wilbur’s words echoed in his mind.</span>
  <em>
    <span> But know when they come to light, it’s because it’s what’s best for this country. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Best for the country.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Is this what’s best for the country? </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Citizens and friends of L’manberg,” Wilbur said, finally addressing the audience. Tommy lifted his head from where he had been staring at Eret and to look at Wilbur. “This nation is built on </span>
  <em>
    <span>trust</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but these ideals are put under threat while L’manberg continues to be poisoned with a </span>
  <em>
    <span>traitor</span>
  </em>
  <span> in our midst.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Surely not,” Tubbo said from the audience, his eyes wide. He looked to Eret. “Eret…?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Eret didn’t say anything, not that he had the chance to, not with Punz looming over him with a sword and a foot on his spine. Tommy looked at Eret in disbelief. He… what? </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>That doesn’t feel right. Eret… he wouldn’t be a traitor, would he?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Wilbur glanced back at the audience, before setting his gaze back to Eret. “While Dream gave you the offer, Eret, you’re the one who took it. You’re the one who decided to betray us. And for what? An empty promise of kingship. Even after we won, you kept up the deception. You had every opportunity to come clean, and you didn’t.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I was going to,” Eret said. “Wilbur, </span>
  <em>
    <span>please</span>
  </em>
  <span>—”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Wilbur clenched his fists, gritting his teeth. “Enough.” He let his hands relax, letting out a frustrated sigh. “Not only that, but I had my eyes on you last night, Eret. Punz, tell me what you saw.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Punz nodded. “Caught Eret digging around,” He said, taking out a stack of dynamite and dropping it on the ground in front of Eret. “Holding this.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You see, everyone?” Wilbur said, whirling around back to the crowd. “He rigged the city with stacks and stacks of TNT, in an attempt to destroy the wonderful nation we have built. He couldn’t accept that we achieved peace, that the SMPlands agreed to cooperate with us and live together in harmony. Because he’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>jealous.”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“No, I didn’t!” Eret said. He let out a groan as Punz pressed his foot down harder, glaring down at Eret.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“We won’t be truly free until we rid this nation of liars.” Wilbur looked down at Eret, coldness in his eyes. Tommy could almost imagine a smirk on Wilbur’s face. Eret stared up at Wilbur, his brows furrowed and breath hitching. He looked terrified. This… this doesn’t feel right, Tommy thinks. But…</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Trust Wilbur, right?</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tommy watched as Wilbur looked over to the audience, staring down at Dream. “In the name of our newfound partnership, Dream—would you care to do the honors?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tommy’s eyes flitted over back to the audience. He exchanged looks with Techno—his a look of worry, while Techno’s reflected one of curious concern. Not helpful, not with the increasing confusion in Tommy, who felt conflicted. On one hand, Eret had been a friend. As much as the two had fought, Eret was still part of the original members, and it felt off that he would be a traitor. On the other… he trusted Wilbur.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dream stood up from his seat, taking the steps up to the podium slowly. Tommy’s heart began to pound despite himself, and he instinctively took a step back as Dream approached. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Dream,” Eret said as Dream stood over him, Dream’s axe gleaming in the light. The axe hovered over Eret menacingly. “Please don’t do this.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you know what happens to traitors, Eret?” Wilbur asked, and Tommy could hear gratification in Wilbur’s voice.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What?” Eret croaked. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Nothing good.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tommy watched as Wilbur finally grinned, placing a hand on Dream’s shoulder.  Tommy hated how perfect that smile looked on Wilbur’s face, with the wickedness glimmering in those eyes and the malice in his smile.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Sorry, Eret,” Wilbur said, and he sounded exactly like that night, except somehow more in control. “I have no room for traitors in my country.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Now?” Dream asked.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Be patient, my friend,” Wilbur said, staring down at Eret with a smile. “I did admire the ambition. I suppose it was just never meant to be.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tommy couldn’t tear his eyes away as Dream swung down, blood splattering on the podium floor.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>The_Eret was slain by Dream using [Nightmare].</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Wilbur whirled around, hands spread on his sides with a wild grin on his face and frenzy in his eyes. “Welcome to L’manberg, everyone! Let the festival begin!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>He lets out a gasp as he jolts awake, clutching at his heart. He staggered forward, his mind running through his thoughts a mile a second, adrenaline rushing through his veins. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He looked around. Everyone was still at L’manberg, he could get away, could run—so he does. He needed to get away from spawn, to get away from a place they could find him—he ran, his chest tight and his breathing heavy. He stumbled, picking himself up, running through trees and hills and builds, and despite him knowing there was no way anyone knew where he was, he could feel Punz hovering over him, sword in hand, could see Sapnap in his mind’s eye, could see Dream with his axe ready to swing and strike and—</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>All of a sudden he was surrounded by walls, by blackstone, rising higher and higher, closing in on him, and then he blinked and blackstone turned to obsidian, and he looked down at his hands and he had nothing, he could throw his fists at the obsidian as much as he liked but he’d never break through, and he felt terror course through him, and even as he shut his eyes he could see Wilbur, see sticks of dynamite falling in front of him, claims of betrayal and a plot to destroy the country, and it wasn’t all false, but he didn’t mean to hurt anyone, he yells, but no noise leaves his throat, he wants to scream, but there is nothing but silence—</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He heaves, finding himself stumbling and falling on the grass. He vaguely recognizes his surroundings as he lifts his head up. This was where he and Tommy found Wilbur when Wilbur ran off, hadn’t he? He could be wrong. He was feeling dangerously close to passing out. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He let himself fall into blackness as his eyes fluttered close. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He felt his life slip away from him, in a way he’s never felt before—the metaphorical clock in his mind seemed to tick louder, reminding him all too much of the finiteness of his life. Two, he thinks. Two left.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>Eret passes out, unbeknownst to him, in front of a place that, in another time and another life, would have been known as Pogtopia.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I wrote this five hours straight and put it off far too much because I needed to have a break and I didn’t want to fuck this chapter up. It’s not perfect, but fuck it, I’ve put it off enough. (I’m also far too critical of my own work lol) Hope you all still enjoy, though :&gt;</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0018"><h2>18. revelation</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>two think of theories.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Everyone here is fucking crazy.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That was it, he thinks, throwing his clothes into his bag. He scrambled over to the drawers, tossing his belongings behind him. To hell with being organized—he figures if he stayed a second longer someone would have his head.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The events of today have been a blur in his mind, but one thing’s for sure: this was all so </span>
  <em>
    <span>fucked. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He came here on Tommy’s invite for a stupid festival for their stupid country that Quackity couldn’t care less about, and for what? To apparently watch a staged execution? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The nation was built on trust? That’s why Wilbur had to have Dream publicly execute an apparent traitor? Why, then, did Wilbur look like an absolute fucking maniac when he made the order? He recalls the grin on Wilbur’s face. He’d shiver but he was mostly pissed off. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He acted like he was bored but he was paying attention. Words, not violence, </span>
  <em>
    <span>apparently.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That sure did look like violence to me,” Quackity mutters bitterly. This was a goddamn disaster, one that he had no part in and had no interest in becoming involved. This wasn’t his home. He said he’d leave and that’s that. Donezo. Bye bye, cuckooland! He’d never have to see this place and its crazy inhabitants ever again. “Fucking politics. Drives people crazy.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He turns around and closes the latches on his luggage. They shut with a resounding </span>
  <em>
    <span>click</span>
  </em>
  <span> and Quackity throws the bag strap over his shoulder, ready to disconnect from this realm. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So long mortality,” He said. He drew a piece of chalk from his pocket, kneeling down to carve the runic symbols to… well, any other realm besides this one! He didn’t care for finesse as he haphazardly drew symbols in a circular fashion—symbols he could hardly read, because he wasn’t exactly a nerd. He let out a nervous laugh as he stared down at the unactivated terminal. Quackity lifted his head up to look at his door, shut in front of him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He didn’t belong here. They made that perfectly clear. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Quackity looked back down at the terminal with its jagged lines and half-assed edges, halfway through muttering an ancient word he doesn’t understand before he cringes at the sound of someone banging at his door.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Who the fuck—?” Quackity groaned, using the bottom of his heel to wipe off the runes. He walked over to the wooden door, swinging it open. He stuck his head out the opening he made. “Hello?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Um, hi,” Niki said, lifting a hand in a small wave. “May I… come in?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He raised a brow, but stepped aside and opened the door further. “Uh, sure.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Niki let herself in. “So, earlier, huh?” She asked, cautious and unsure. She tucks a hair behind her ear. “That was… a lot.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Quackity said. He kicked at the floor. “Understatement of the century.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She sighed. “I guess…” Niki said, trailing off. She stared down at her hands that rested on her thighs, biting down at her lip. “I didn’t expect Wilbur to do that.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She sounded hesitant, as if still in disbelief. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do what? Literally kill a man on stage when we were supposed to have a fucking party?” Quackity snapped. “No offense, Niki, but I don’t think </span>
  <em>
    <span>any </span>
  </em>
  <span>of us expected that.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She shrunk further into herself. She clenched her fists, avoiding Quackity’s gaze. “I just thought he knew better,” She said. “But I’m sure he’s doing what he thinks is best, right…?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No,” Quackity said. He was getting sick of this. “No on all goddamn accounts, Niki. That man out there?” He points a finger at his door. “That man is </span>
  <em>
    <span>power tripping.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She looks up to look at him. “I just don’t think—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I know you see what I do, Niki,” Quackity said. He raised a hand, one finger pointed up while the rest are closed into a fist. “First, the walls. Second, keeping everyone out. Third, </span>
  <em>
    <span>this. </span>
  </em>
  <span>I don’t know why you’re so blinded but that is </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>the L’manberg I heard so much about.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She doesn’t say anything for a moment. He could see the gears turning in her head. She mulls over his words, biting the inside of her lip. Quackity doesn’t really care if she disagrees with him. That’s her problem. If she wants to stay here, then she’s making her own grave. He huffs, kneeling back over the runes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He takes out the chalk and starts drawing again. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You can stay here, but I’m leaving,” Quackity huffed, furrowing his brow and etching the letters. “You want to make bed with tyrants? Then be my guest.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I wouldn’t call him a tyrant,” Niki says quickly, and Quackity turns with a raised brow. She raised her hands. “Really, I wouldn’t. He’s doing this for the nation, remember? And Eret’s a traitor</span>
  <em>
    <span>, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Wilbur wouldn’t do that if he didn’t have evidence!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“But?” He asked, impatient.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“But, well… you do make a point,” She said. She sighed, leaning back and brushing a hand through her hair. Her fingers ran down her locks. She twirled a tuft of hair as she reached the end of it, staring down at Quackity. “I think he’s just way over his head.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ya think?” Quackity said, sarcastic. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Niki rolled her eyes. “All I’m saying is—he’s not a bad guy. That’s not the Wilbur I know.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Maybe the Wilbur you know and the Wilbur that he really is are two very different people,” He said. Quackity stared down at the terminal. He opens his mouth to mutter the activation word, but then he halts.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He turns back to look at Niki. She sounded so sure, so eager to just </span>
  <em>
    <span>believe </span>
  </em>
  <span>that there must be some explanation for this. Something to cling onto, something other than the glaring reality that was dangling right above them. He saw it in everyone else, in the shock on their faces, the way they didn’t react with rage and only with mournful shock—it made him sick.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He furrows his brow, before his eyes widened.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He’s lying to you,” Quackity said, turning away from the terminal and staring at her with a determined expression. “All of you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She raised a brow at that. “This nation was built on trust.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He just doesn’t understand it. Why couldn’t they see the clear truth like he does? Wilbur had smiled, had laughed at a man’s pain. He called the order. He planned this whole event to showcase the death of a traitor. To show what happens if you betray him. Even if done with good intentions that still wasn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>good</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Nothing good ever happens to traitors. What the </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Exactly,” Quackity said, exasperated. “He’s playing you all like fools.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Niki doesn’t say anything at that, instead clenching her jaw in defiance. She’s stubborn, and he could admire that, really, but right now her loyalty to Wilbur’s code served more as an annoyance than anything else. She turned away from him, firm in her resolve.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But still, he wasn’t one to back down. He could use that.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Niki,” He started. “You’re loyal to L’manberg’s beliefs. Wilbur’s words.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She doesn’t respond. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I trust that you know what’s right,” He said. “And whatever this is—this isn’t that.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He glances back at her. The steeliness in her eyes seemed to have softened. She got up, and headed over to the door. “I should get some rest,” She said. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” He said, and he watched as she shut the door behind her as she left. He wasn’t going to let Wilbur get away with this. Not if he could help it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wait.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“...oh god fucking dammit,” Quackity muttered, throwing his head face down on the bed. “I can’t fucking believe I convinced myself to stay.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>God, he was crazy.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>This was not going to be fun.</span>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Tommy stared up at the blackstone walls. They felt suffocating, almost. He didn’t know why they did. They were symbols of liberty, of freedom. Of their emancipation from Dream. From the rest of the server. The… the rest of the world.</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>All of a sudden, he felt caged.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He darted his eyes down. “No, Tommy,” He muttered to himself. “You—you’re being ridiculous. It’s not… you’re just rattled, that’s all. Anyone would be, after… after…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eret on the stage, Tommy unable to do anything, Wilbur smiling, wildness in his eyes, a familiar sort of madness that was almost feral, as if untapped and had been waiting to be unleashed—he shook his head, shaking the memory of independence day away. He was being ridiculous. Wilbur had… he had done it for independence. To be free of… of traitors. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But… isn’t what Eret did what Wilbur was doing? Eret made a deal with Dream for… for power. And that’s…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The same thing Wilbur is doing,” He mutters. “No, no! What am I thinking?” He smacks the side of his head. “Tommy, you’re being stupid. Wilbur isn’t a </span>
  <em>
    <span>traitor</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he won our freedom! He…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The walls loom over him menacingly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Is this really freedom?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“This is so fucking dumb,” He said. He flattened his hair with both hands as he dragged his palms across his head, letting out a groan. They won. That’s that. No time to question that now. Things were fine. “I hate Dream.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He kicks at the ground. If it weren’t for Dream, they wouldn’t even be in this mess. Dream had made the deal with Eret, he…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Could have lied, Tommy’s mind supplied. “There could have been no fucking traitor,” He mutters, eyes widening. He began to pace, mulling over the possibilities. “I mean, it’s not a stretch of the imagination, innit? Dream’s a manipulative bastard, he’s not above lying to achieve his goals.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And it makes sense, too, considering everything. Eret didn’t seem like a traitor. Sure, he was annoying and bossy and annoying but that didn’t make him a traitor.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The nation is built on trust,” Tommy said, turning on his heel and walking. “The idea of a traitor ruins that. It destroys the foundation. If we thought there was a traitor, if we believed one of the original members was capable of doing such a thing, we’d start to distrust everyone else.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Oh, he was smart, Tommy thinks. He’d never admit it, but fuck, this was diabolically genius, and Tommy hated it. He kept walking, pacing back and forth as his mind ran with ideas. It was all bullshit. A ploy to tear the country from the inside out.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“...fuck, and I was almost doing it with Wilbur,” He muttered. He stopped in his tracks. Still, a seed of paranoia was planted. Judging from the look in Wilbur’s eyes and the way he acted, if he kept believing the others would betray him then this would have disastrous consequences. And knowing Wilbur, he’d spiral. He gets stuck in his own head far too often. Tommy needed to circumvent that. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He lifted his head up, watching the door to the camarvan open. Wilbur steps out, laughing as he fixes his coat, seemingly talking to someone behind him. Tommy immediately ran over, raising a hand to wave at his brother.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hey, Wilby, I—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He cut himself off, seeing who was behind Wilbur. Ceramic mask and green hood. Dream.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Speak of the devil,” Tommy murmured darkly. “...literally.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, hello Tommy!” Wilbur waved, smiling innocently as he walked over to Tommy. “I was just discussing some plans with Dream.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Were you now?” Tommy asked, quirking a brow in suspicion. He kept his eye trained on Dream, who didn’t seem to reciprocate the stare. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” Wilbur said. “I had been thinking about doing a new construction project. I was hesitant, you know, considering the entire Eret thing… I was a little unsure of doing major projects while we had a traitor in our ranks, but now we’re free of that pest, we can finally work on building up our country.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The coldness in Wilbur’s eyes was gone, butTommy can’t help but feel like it was still there. He narrowed his eyes, keeping them on Dream. “Right,” He said, not quite listening to Wilbur.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Dream said. “I was hesitant on Wilbur’s proposal, but he’s just so convincing, you know?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He slings an arm over Wilbur’s shoulder, who simply smiles at Dream. Like a friend. Tommy didn’t like that. Green bastard’s got his strings all tied up around Tommy’s brother. And Wilbur—god, Wilbur can be so naïve sometimes, can’t he?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What? What did he propose?” Tommy asked.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Double walls,” Wilbur said, taking out a scroll and unfurling it. Tommy grabbed the paper, his eyes widening. They were architectural designs for a second set of walls. “Expanding the nation while at the same time protecting it. It’s genius.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A second set of bars, his mind supplies traitorously. He shakes off the thought. He lifts his head up. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Tommy?” Wilbur asked, frowning. “Do you not like it?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No, no, I just…” Tommy said. “It’s a great idea. I’m just wondering about the budget?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dream laughs. “Don’t worry about that, Tommy. The adults can handle it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tommy frowns. “And what is that supposed to mean?” Fucking two-faced green sunavabitch, he’d clobber him, stick an arrow in the green fuck’s eye—</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur clears his throat, sending Dream a dirty look.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What he means is,” Wilbur said. “Just go be a kid, Tommy. You earned it.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tommy tore his gaze away from Dream and looked at Wilbur hesitantly. Wilbur just smiled at him, gently and kindly, not too unlike the way he smiled at Tommy all those years ago, when they were kids. Wilbur placed a hand on Tommy’s shoulder.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Wilbur,” Tommy said, placing his own hand atop Wilbur’s. “Can we talk?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur blinked. “Uh, sure. What about?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tommy glanced at Dream. “I’d rather talk privately, if that’s okay.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh—of course,” Wilbur said. He turned to Dream. “Is that alright?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Don’t let me take away from your time,” Dream said. He backed off, offering a small salute. “See ya later, Wilbur.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur just nods, watching as Dream exits the borders of their land. Tommy keeps his eyes on Dream, as if the moment he tore his eyes away Dream would disappear and… do something. He doesn’t know. Just something bad, probably.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So, what do you want to talk about?” Wilbur asked.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The… well,” Tommy said, looking back at Wilbur. “Independence day. That whole thing.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ah,” Wilbur said, nodding in understanding. “You know what I did was best for the nation.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m sure you think you do,” Tommy said.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“...and what’s that supposed to mean?” Wilbur said, raising a brow. There was a dangerous edge to his tone, and Tommy remembers that night, remembers the coldness in Wilbur’s voice, remembers the festival—careful, his mind thinks. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Nothing good happens to traitors.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Wilbur,” Tommy said. “I don’t doubt that you did what you thought was best. I trust you, remember?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I seem to </span>
  <em>
    <span>think</span>
  </em>
  <span> so,” Wilbur said, turning away. Tommy groaned, running after Wilbur.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You know I didn’t mean it like that,” Tommy said. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Look, is there a point to this, or are you just going to question my decisions like everyone else seems so keen on doing?” Wilbur snapped. He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Sorry, I just… everyone’s been going behind my back. They think I’ve gone mad.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“To be fair, you did schedule an execution no one knew about,” Tommy said. “Of course they’d be shocked. But give it time. They’ll get it. Trust, right? Have faith.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur snorted. “Yeah, I guess,” He said. “It’s just a little frustrating, is all.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur stops and looks down at the ground. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I get that, I really do,” Tommy said. “But I’m asking you to have faith in me, this time.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur looked up, raising a brow. “What for?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Just… hear me out,” Tommy said. “The Eret thing. It just… it doesn’t line up.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What do you mean?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Not that I like defending Eret, but—he wouldn’t betray the faction,” Tommy said, walking ahead. He doesn’t notice how Wilbur’s eyes narrowed, how Wilbur’s eyes darkened with that familiar sort of anger Tommy had seen once before. “He just wouldn’t. We all know that.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So you’re saying I’m wrong,” Wilbur said, following along.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m saying you were </span>
  <em>
    <span>lied </span>
  </em>
  <span>to,” Tommy said, eyes trailing off to where Dream had taken his leave. “When has he ever been a trustworthy source of information?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur went silent, following Tommy’s eyes. The tenseness in Wilbur’s shoulders seemed to relax after a moment, and Wilbur let out a quiet laugh. It sounded… condescending, almost. “I see,” Wilbur said. “You think me naïve.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“That’s not—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur cut him off with another laugh, waving Tommy off with a dismissive wave. “It’s alright, Tommy. I understand why you think I’m being played. But I have evidence. I’ll show you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That’s… not what Tommy was expecting.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“If it’s messages,” Tommy said, jogging to keep up with Wilbur as Wilbur began to walk off towards one of the walls. “They can be faked, you know, that’s not—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Tommy, shut up,” Wilbur said. “Just follow me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur stops at a birch tree and takes out a shovel, digging into the dirt in front of him. Tommy frowned, before his eyes widened as Wilbur opened up a long hallway. A mine, Tommy thinks. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur takes out a lantern, gesturing for Tommy to step inside. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They walk in, Wilbur walking ahead and Tommy following along, uncertainty in Tommy’s eyes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What is this place?” Tommy whispered, his voice echoing along the cavern.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur stops suddenly, and Tommy nearly runs into him. The former general takes a step aside, revealing to Tommy a blackstone room with chests. The chests were labeled with their names—</span>
  <em>
    <span>Tubbo, Tommy, Fundy, Wilbur, Eret</span>
  </em>
  <span>—and an unassuming button lay in the middle of the room.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Whoa,” Tommy said. “What…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Welcome to the Final Control Room,” Wilbur said, and Tommy didn’t notice his voice barely simmering with anger.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tommy walked over to the chest with his name on it, eager to see what loot was inside. He opened it up, and much to his dismay, it was empty. “Wha—there’s nothing in here!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur walked over to the center of the room, kneeling over the wooden button. He brushed the dust off it, sneering. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Of course there’s nothing,” Wilbur said. “This place is a trap.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tommy paled. “What?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur pressed the button. Doors opened on all sides, and Tommy braced for enemies, but no one came.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tommy looked around. “What… how did you know about this? Did you build this?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur shook his head. “No… but Eret did.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Shock crossed Tommy’s face, his brows raising. “You mean to tell me…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Dream didn’t lie to me, Tommy,” Wilbur said, pressing the button again and the doors shut with a loud hiss. Wilbur got up, turning to look at Tommy. There was a seriousness in his eyes, one akin to the look Wilbur had in his office, when he told Tommy—</span>
  <em>
    <span>It’s what’s best for this country. </span>
  </em>
  <span>“He never did.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“But how can you be so sure?” Tommy asked, insistent. “He could have built this, he could have—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur shook his head, and Tommy could see something in his eyes. Was that pity?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Dream didn’t tell me anything,” Wilbur said.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So how did you know?” Tommy asked. He was confused, certainly. He needed answers. He trusted Wilbur, but he needed to understand. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur turned away. “Do you remember, the night I passed out?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tommy nodded. “All too clearly.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur sighed. He kept his eyes away from Tommy. “I had a vision.” His voice didn’t seem cold. Didn’t seem angry. Just… tired. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tommy’s eyes widened. “What?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur ran a hand across his hair. “Yes,” He said. “And that’s when I knew. That night, Tommy—that was the night he was going to betray us. But this vision—it stopped him from doing that.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“So wait, let me get this straight—” Tommy said. “You knew. This whole time. And didn’t tell </span>
  <em>
    <span>anyone.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He felt almost betrayed by that, considering Tommy’s own faith, but he wanted to hear what Wilbur said first.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He turned to look at Tommy. The exhaustion was clear in Wilbur’s eyes—just how long has he been keeping this a secret? “I didn’t want to deceive anyone. I’m not like him. When I keep secrets I don’t… I’m not </span>
  <em>
    <span>lying</span>
  </em>
  <span>. I’m doing it for everyone. It’s what’s best.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tommy was silent.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur let out another tired sigh. “I was reeling from the shock. I didn’t know who to trust. I </span>
  <em>
    <span>still </span>
  </em>
  <span>don’t.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Except Dream, apparently,” Tommy muttered bitterly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What? No!” Wilbur said, walking over to Tommy. He placed his hands on Tommy’s shoulders. Tommy didn’t look at him. “Tommy, I’m not—I’m just using him. That’s all. He’s a means to an end.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tommy turned to look up at Wilbur. “...are you using me?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No!” Wilbur said, exasperated. “No, I would never!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You don’t seem above it,” Tommy mumbled, looking down at his feet. Wilbur sighed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Tommy,” Wilbur said, tilting his head to look directly into Tommy’s face. Tommy turned his own head away in childish defiance. “Tommy, look at me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Fine,” Tommy said, jerking his head to look directly into Wilbur’s eyes. They were shining with regret, Tommy thinks. Uncertainty.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Tommy, </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> are the one person I trust,” Wilbur said. “It’s why I’m telling you this now. And why I led you here. Because out of everyone here, I know you wouldn’t betray me.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tommy tried to tear his gaze away but Wilbur’s grip on his shoulders tightened as he tried to do so.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We can’t trust anyone, Tommy,” Wilbur said. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“...even you?” Tommy says without thinking.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I’m the </span>
  <em>
    <span>only </span>
  </em>
  <span>one you can trust,” Wilbur said, shaking his head. “I’m the only one who’s willing to give up everything for L’manberg. Can you say the same for them?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tommy thinks on those words. Fundy… no. Eret, fuck no. Tubbo… </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Would Tubbo be willing to sacrifice everything for the country?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He frowns, staring down at the ground. But that doesn’t make Tubbo a traitor. It just… weakness is what makes people what they are. It doesn’t make them untrustworthy. It…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You know I’m right,” Wilbur said sympathetically, loosening his hold on Tommy. Tommy looked up at Wilbur, trying not to show the doubt on his face. “It’s not their fault. Some people are just born to be traitors.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eret was a traitor. This country should be built on trust.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But the foundation was flimsy. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Trust. Trust. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Trust. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tommy’s eyes hardened.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“...you’re right,” He said. He looked up at Wilbur, newfound resolve in Tommy’s eyes. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He almost turned on Wilbur. But that wasn’t it. It was L’manberg against everyone else’s own inclinations to selfishness. Him and Wilbur against everyone else. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He thinks of Tubbo. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t think Tubbo is a traitor, but Wilbur had a point. If Eret could be swayed, everyone else might be. He trusted Tubbo. He did.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He didn’t think of this as distrusting Tubbo.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>This was more like saving Tubbo from an evil that was snaking underneath the foundations of this country. He’d keep Tubbo from that. He’d keep Tubbo </span>
  <em>
    <span>safe.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tommy turns to leave the room, and Wilbur lingers behind. Tommy doesn’t see the smile and the satisfaction on Wilbur’s face.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Yes I took too long making this I’m sorry the holidays happened lol. Anyway I hoped you all enjoyed Christmas (if you celebrate!). I keep making these chapters in one sitting lmao anyway I hope you enjoyed this chapter! All your comments on the last chapter have been lovely and very much appreciated :) Thanks for reading &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0019"><h2>19. interlude vi</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>unfortunate truths.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>just a little warning: there’s a ton of references to self-hatred in this chapter</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>He was walking with a bit of pep in his step. That was certainly irregular for Technoblade, considering when he wasn’t inebriated with bloodlust he carried himself with a heaviness on his shoulders</span>
  <span>—the fatigue victory constantly punished him with. The voices in his head were loud, louder than ever, and keeping them at bay was taxing. Which is why he let their words seep into his mind, clearing his thoughts, paving his path with the simple instruction of vengeance. Not his vengeance, certainly—he held no bias against Manberg other than the fact they were a government (aka Techno’s worst enemy)—but Wilbur’s. He was a weapon, after all, and in this world he was the blade that would destroy the grounds of democracy. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Ferocity coiled around him like chains, but he welcomed it. Conflict was his lifeblood, of course, whether it be in the battlefield or in heated discussions like the one he was sure was coming, what with Wilbur staring at him with an uneasy look. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>He’d get through Wilbur—that wouldn’t be a problem. The amnesia thing was getting old, but with Wilbur silently following Techno to Manberg, it shouldn’t be too difficult for Wilbur’s ideals to do another 180, just like it did weeks prior. Techno’s real problem was curbing Wilbur’s current naivety. It had been easy to take advantage of it and it wasn’t as if Wilbur’s blind faith wasn’t useful, but if Techno could use Wilbur, it would be terrifyingly easy for anyone else to do so. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>As they climbed up the hill overlooking Manberg, Techno took out a splash potion, throwing it behind him. Wilbur sputtered out an indignant noise. Technoblade pressed a finger to his lips, letting out a shush. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>He was in no real danger, really, despite the paranoia tugging at him and the way his heart pounded against his chest, ready to whirl around and take out his sword at any potential threat that would approach. Manberg didn’t seem to take Techno seriously, and perhaps even saw him as a potential ally, though after the festival that idea was a little stupid. But even then, if Manberg saw Technoblade as an enemy, they wouldn’t be stupid enough to take him on now. With an alcoholic drunkard for a president and a useless lackey for a vice president, they wouldn’t be able to do anything if they even tried it.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Techno was still cautious, though, what with the sound of Wilbur’s unseen footsteps behind him. He’d be careful, for Wilbur’s sake. Technoblade crouched, squinting as he overlooked the land. He’s got the land memorized in the back of his mind—he could probably draw it off memory at this point—but it was still helpful to be there in person, just to check if there were any new structures to update Techno’s mental map, and possibly to overhear any important state secrets. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The festival decorations were still up. Of course they were, considering Schlatt’s ineptitude to do anything other than binge drink and yell at Quackity. Tubbo was the only person who’d even bother to take them down—he’s been the only one here to show any real competence that Techno could respect. Without Tubbo, this country would honestly just go to shit. That kid was the last saving grace this country had, and with Tubbo’s execution, Schlatt had only dug Manberg’s grave deeper. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Not to mention the festival had only dragged Wilbur down further. Technoblade glances over to where he heard Wilbur shuffle, before turning to look back down at the country. Bloodlust shot through his chest as he stared at the podium, untouched since the festival. The memory of blood was enough to rile him up, and the feeling of adrenaline from the thought of strife didn’t help, and the voices certainly didn’t either. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He glanced over at Wilbur, the ghost of a smirk on his face. The invisibility was wearing off, but at the moment Manberg seemed to be a ghost town. Techno could wager a guess as to why. The stacks of TNT underneath the country probably didn’t play a role in the land’s deserted state. (He was being sarcastic, he thinks when the voices called him an idiot for that thought.) Wilbur </span>
  <em>
    <span>should </span>
  </em>
  <span>be safe for the time being. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Wilbur shimmered into view. The unease in Wilbur’s face remained, though it seemed trained on Manberg. Techno wondered what was going on in Wilbur’s mind, wondered if he was seeing the decorations and the objective beauty of the nation’s current state and if Wilbur would come to the same conclusion of destroying it because it was no longer his.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“...Techno,” Wilbur said, turning to Technoblade. “This… this is L—I mean, Manberg.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Techno nodded, lifting his eyes up to take in the sight of the dark indestructible flag. “Yep,” He said, the voices yelling, </span>
  <em>
    <span>holy shit is he remembering. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Wilbur stared at Techno with an almost conflicted expression, almost horrified, almost sad. He turned away and looked back at Manberg, falling to his knees. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Technoblade was unsure what to do. There was a part of him that raged to engage in a debate, to push Wilbur over the edge, but the look in Wilbur’s face made him pause. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“It’s… beautiful,” Wilbur whispered. He didn’t sound in awe, just… defeated.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“And built on blood,” Techno said. “Don’t forget, this isn’t your home now. They drove you out.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Wilbur’s unresponsiveness didn’t annoy Technoblade. Techno sighed, taking a seat beside where Wilbur had fallen. He wasn’t unsympathetic to whatever Wilbur must be feeling right now. This was a lot. Techno knew that. So Techno didn’t try to fill the silence with a snarky quip or a remark of anarchistic perspectives. The chaos in him died down, his need for conflict and discord simmering into a low flame. It’d be beneficial to convince Wilbur now, when Wilbur was arguably at his weakest, but he wasn’t one for manipulation. He’d let Wilbur come to his own conclusions.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Techno had more than enough faith that Wilbur would understand. He did before. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Still, the look of horror in Wilbur’s face made Techno almost feel guilty. The naivety Wilbur had possessed over the last few days had been becoming familiar to Technoblade, and taking Wilbur back to the place he was banished from would certainly shatter what remaining innocence he had. But still, the ends justify the means. This was the only way Techno could think of to jog Wilbur’s memory. And if it didn’t—the stress of seeing his former land like this would certainly shake him enough to agree to their original plan. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“...why would I want to destroy this?” Wilbur said quietly, barely more than a whisper. That wasn’t what Techno was expecting. Wilbur sounded almost terrified, as if scared of the answer. “I…”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Things are complicated,” Techno said. He sighed, lifting a hand up to remove his mask, setting it down beside him. He looked at Wilbur, placing his other hand atop Wilbur’s in comfort. “A lot of things happened.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“But are they all bad?” Wilbur asked. He fell on his rear and stretched out his legs. He pulled his knees close to his chest, resting his chin on them. “I mean, this place looks lovely.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Wilbur,” Techno said, sighing. “It looks lovely. But that doesn’t mean it is.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Wilbur said nothing, not tearing his eyes away from the country below them. Empty as it was, Techno could tell Wilbur was imagining people, imagining fun, imagining what life in Manberg was like—life without </span>
  <em>
    <span>him. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Things must be so great without me,” He said, swallowing. There was no bitterness in Wilbur’s tone, just nausea and apprehensive dread. He clutched the hem of his cloak, eyes darting down to stare at his feet. “They must… they must all love it here.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Wilbur—”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“—am I a bad guy?” Wilbur cuts him off, turning to look at Techno in the eyes. From everyone else’s perspective, yes, they were villains, and Techno knew Wilbur had been more evil than good as of late, but there was dread in those eyes, a sort of trepidation that made Techno hesitate. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>He wasn’t sure. Past the maddened haze, there was some nobility to Wilbur’s decision to destroy Manberg, some sense of misguided heroism that Techno never bothered to think about. But he wasn’t sure what answer Wilbur was looking for here. This rebellion was never painted in blacks and whites, but rather in an array of monochromatic shades that was far darker than anyone cared to admit. But Wilbur—the Wilbur he knew, the Wilbur who would throw everyone under the bus if it meant proving a point—only saw the world in pitch black, with no room for nuance, no room for the thought of any real good. Everything was evil, so in his eyes, that evil must be destroyed.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>At Techno’s lack of a response, Wilbur turned away, lip quivering. Techno had never seen Wilbur like this—at least, not here. It reminded Technoblade of when they were kids, when Wilbur didn’t hide his feelings behind a mask of heroism or villainy, a sort of fragility that Techno had thought was lost. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Wilbur’s shoulders were tense, and Techno thought for a brief moment that he should wrap his arm around Wilbur, pull him into a hug, but Techno didn’t seem to be the appropriate person for that. Then again, he never was. He shouldn’t even be here, shouldn’t be the one to keep Wilbur steady when he lost his way. He was nothing but a bad influence, and one that just helped further Wilbur along this dark path.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Phil should be here, Techno thinks. He was always better at this than Techno was. He could understand the subtleties of emotion, of situations, could look at the shades of grey and not throw himself into rage and bloodlust. A gentle hand, Techno thinks. That’s what Phil was. Not like Techno, an iron fist.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re not a bad guy,” Techno finally says. That’s what Phil would say, or at least something along those lines. “Not in the way you think.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Wilbur snapped his head back to look at Techno. “But I had given up on this place, hadn’t I? I decided to give up. I want to </span>
  <em>
    <span>destroy </span>
  </em>
  <span>it. That makes me the villain.” He sounded frustrated, as if trying to get the point across. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“You do realize you’re telling this to the guy who’s letting you do all that, right? I’ll obviously disagree with you. If you’re the bad guy, that makes me just as evil.” Techno didn’t see himself as evil, just willing to do whatever it takes. If siding with an obvious madman was what it took to topple the government, then sure. Others could view him as evil, but he didn’t care. That wasn’t his problem. “Do you think I’m evil, Wilbur?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Wilbur hesitated. “I… no. But that’s different. You’re not </span>
  <em>
    <span>me. </span>
  </em>
  <span>I…”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Wilbur was stubborn, and with the idea in his head he’d keep thinking of it until he’d succumb to his own thoughts, becoming the villain in a self-fulfilling prophecy of his own design. Techno should stop this, should curb Wilbur’s self-destructive thoughts before they spiral out of control, but Techno doesn’t, because he’s not a good person, either. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Wilbur let out a hiccup before a sob escaped his throat, tugging at his beanie and pulling it over down his head, covering his forehead. His hands shook, fingers dragging down his face and almost clawing at it. Desperation scratched through Wilbur’s throat, a pathetic noise that made Techno feel bile rise in his own throat. Wilbur’s shoulders shuddered, and he fell against Techno, shaking and letting out gasps, not quite crying but not alright, either. Techno tensed, he should hug Wilbur, he should, but he doesn’t.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span> “God, I’m awful,” Wilbur choked out, his form trembling beside Technoblade. “I’m so bloody awful.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>He kind of is, Techno thinks, but he doesn’t voice it out. He just lets Wilbur stay there, shaking and letting out half-sobs. It was as close to comfort Wilbur would get. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“I’ve always been awful,” Wilbur whispered, burying his head in Techno’s shoulder. He murmurs something inaudible, and Techno would have missed it if Wilbur hadn’t been so close. “They were right. I’ll never be good.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Perhaps hiding the truth hadn’t been an ideal solution to this. Wilbur was falling apart beside him, and Techno wasn’t sure if Wilbur would even be whole after this. Wilbur doesn’t sound insane. Just… sad. Miserable. Defeated.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“...do you want me to tell you everything?” Techno asked. It would at least help soften the blow, and perhaps let Wilbur understand there was more to this than him falling into villainy.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Would it even help?” Wilbur asked weakly, turning his head but keeping it on Techno’s shoulder. “All I’ve heard so far was that I've been awful, and that once I was out of the picture everything is wonderful, and I couldn’t have that. I don’t think knowing everything would change that.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Destroying Manberg isn’t evil,” Techno said. “Like yeah, it’s an act of terrorism, but that’s not the point.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Then what </span>
  <em>
    <span>is </span>
  </em>
  <span>the point?” Wilbur murmured. “I built this place with my own two hands. I fought for this place. Destroying it… that’s what I would do, if I lost.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>He sucked in a trembling breath. Wilbur lifted his head up and scooted away from Technoblade, rubbing his arm. Guilt must be weighing down on Wilbur, for things he hasn’t even done. Wilbur didn’t pull the trigger yet. He shouldn’t feel bad. He doesn’t know the way corruption has snaked its way through L’manberg’s heart, twisting it and slowly killing it. He knows of Schlatt’s position but not of the tyranny that was in place. He doesn’t know about—</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>The festival. Wilbur doesn’t know. He doesn’t remember. But…</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Techno’s eyes trail down to the podium. No one was around. He could show Wilbur. Tell him. But it’d be a risk, his mind thinks. Tommy already hated him for it. He couldn’t risk Wilbur hating him, too.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“...for the record, Will,” Techno said. “You haven’t technically done anything awful.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Wilbur says nothing. Haziness was in those eyes. He was uncertain, Techno knew. He was always far too caught up in his own ideas that he’d never believe it unless presented with an alternative. And Wilbur’s misery, his current spiral—it could only be offset by telling Wilbur everything. Technoblade gets up, offering a hand to Wilbur. Wilbur stares at Techno’s palm. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“I need to show you something,” Techno said. “Maybe it’ll make you feel less miserable.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Wilbur gets up on his own, not taking Technoblade’s hand. Techno pulled his hand back, frowning but not commenting. “I doubt it,” Wilbur mutters.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Techno hopped down, walking into the grounds of the country. Wilbur followed hesitantly, turning his head around. Technoblade didn’t blame him. After all, Techno had drilled it in Wilbur’s head that everyone in Manberg was an enemy. No one could be trusted. He’d die if he so much as lowered his guard.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>As Techno walked through the middle of Manberg, he noted Wilbur’s footsteps behind him stopped. Techno turned back at Wilbur, who was looking up at the sky. There was wistfulness in those eyes, still red from tears. “...hey, Techno?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Yeah?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Do you… do you remember that time when we were kids?” Wilbur asked, voice still shaky. “When I was gone. Disappeared for a bit.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Yeah,” Techno said, nodding. He looked away. “I do.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Very clearly.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“You never talked about it, though,” Techno continued. “Why do you ask?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Wilbur looked down. “Yeah,” He said. An awkward tension filled the air, and Techno wanted nothing more than to break it with an awkward joke and nervous laughter. It would be easy. But he doesn’t. Wilbur wiped his eye with his sleeve. “I dunno. I just… I’m thinking about it.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“...you wanna talk about it?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Not really,” Wilbur admits. “But I probably should, at some point. I just… it’s hard to. It’s so easy to let out the words but they stay at the tip of your tongue, and it’s difficult to find it in you to talk. I just… I don’t know.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“You don’t have to talk about it.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Except I do,” He said. “I’ve put it off long enough.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“You really don’t,” Techno said, shaking his head. “You don’t owe it to anyone. If you don’t want to talk about it, you don’t have to.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Wilbur goes quiet. Techno doesn’t fill the silence. He hasn’t thought about that in a long time. He recalls how it felt, though. Panic, fear, stress—and even more worry, when Wilbur came back, shivering and his eyes dull.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>He wonders why Wilbur brings it up now, now that years have passed and they both have long forgotten their childhood home, now that they are here and trying to forge a new path ahead. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Perhaps something happened then, and of course something did, but Techno didn’t know what. He wouldn’t ask, though. The past seemed to weigh down more on Wilbur than it ever did Techno, who shrugged off the past and tried to look ahead. Wilbur was haunted, Techno thinks. By the past, by the present, by the future—by things he has and hasn’t done. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>But it hardly matters now. Techno looked away and looked up at the podium. Whatever it was that Wilbur was so haunted by, it would have to wait. And perhaps that thought made him cruel, but every second counted. He’d already wasted enough time comforting Wilbur, being the literal shoulder his brother cried on. Showing Wilbur this… it should steer Wilbur’s hatred away from himself and direct it back to their true target: Manberg.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It’d make Wilbur feel better, in a way. It’s better to be angry than sad. It was easier, too.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The chairs around them were empty. They have been since the festival. Gunpowder settled on the seats like dust. Dark red stained the aisle, a reminder of the massacre. </span>
  <em>
    <span>His </span>
  </em>
  <span>massacre. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Techno’s hand twitched. The memory of blood always left him wanting more.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He looked up at the cage. Tubbo had been there, trapped, and Techno had been facing him with a crossbow and trepidation in his tone. He hadn’t wanted to. And for once, the voices in his head didn’t, either. But voices—ones outside his mind and surrounded him at all sides—they cried for blood, demanding death. Tubbo had trusted him, but he caved and pulled the trigger. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As the trigger was pulled, the noise of fireworks and the sight of Schlatt and Quackity dead beside Tubbo was more than enough to send Techno into a frenzy. One that Wilbur had been almost proud of, considering Wilbur’s own failure to detonate the TNT. Regardless, the massacre hadn’t been planned—at least, not in the way that it happened. There would have been blood spilled, but getting lost in bloodlust hadn’t been the plan. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tubbo losing a life certainly hadn’t been part of those plans. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He glanced back at Wilbur, who looked back at Techno.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Wilbur,” Techno said. “I think it’s time I told you about the festival.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>Pogtopia was empty. Far emptier than it was normally. It has been these last few days. Wilbur’s maddened laughter, while chilling, had become a familiar sound that echoed through the walls of the ravine, and the lack of it had been just as unsettling as it was if it had been there. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tommy sighed, sitting down on one of the cobblestone steps. Wilbur’s disappearance had been a welcome reprieve from the constant manic ramblings that just insisted Tommy go off the deep end with Wilbur, but now it was getting worrying. Technoblade hasn’t been around, either, which did not bode well for anyone. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Wilbur was scheming. Tommy was sure of it. It was almost worse now, though, because at least with the festival Tommy knew what was going to happen. The plan went south, but still. He knew about the TNT, knew about the withers—but now, Wilbur could be planning anything and Tommy would be helpless to stop it. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tommy shook his leg nervously. He heard steps behind him. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Hey,” Tubbo said, moving to sit down beside Tommy. Tubbo was looking better, though still bandaged. The regen pots have been working excellently, but a death like that left wounds and scars that were difficult to heal. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They were on the same playing field now. One life left. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Hey,” Tommy said. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“You look worried,” Tubbo pointed out. “You okay?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“I’m fine, just… well.” Tommy sighed. “Wilbur and Techno. Have you seen them recently?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Tubbo frowned. “After the festival, you mean? No.” Tubbo knitted his brow. “You don’t think…?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, I </span>
  <em>
    <span>know </span>
  </em>
  <span>they’re up to no good,” Tommy said. “After that shit Techno pulled at the festival? He’s a bad influence, man, and Wilbur’s just as awful of an influence right back at him. It’s shit.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tubbo nodded. “Yeah… we’re in a bit of a pickle, huh?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Understatement of the fucking century.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tommy leaned forward, resting his elbows on his thighs. Wilbur would’ve pointed out his bad posture (at least, before this whole fiasco), but Tommy didn’t give a shit. “God!” Tommy groaned. “We should be out there, finding Wilbur or Techno or just—I don’t know! Doing </span>
  <em>
    <span>something</span>
  </em>
  <span> other than sitting on our asses waiting for Wilbur to give us a plan!”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tommy planted his face into a palm, letting out a noise of frustration.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“This sucks,” He mumbles. He lifts his head to look up at Tubbo. “How ‘bout you, though? You doing any better?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“...eh,” Tubbo said. “I’ve been better. Being publicly executed by a close ally isn’t really something that makes me thrilled, you know?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“...right,” Tommy said, flushing in embarrassment. He darted his eyes down. “I, uh. Shouldn’t of have asked.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“No, it’s fine!” Tubbo said quickly. “I was just joking. But yeah, uh… I’m doing good! At least, better than a few days ago. It’s been pretty rough, but I’m trying to look on the bright side, you know? Big Q’s on our side now—Schlatt’s losing allies. We actually have a shot at this.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, if only Wilbur knew that,” Tommy muttered, trailing off. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tubbo nodded. “Yeah…”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>They fell into an awkward silence. Tubbo rubbed the back of his neck, biting down at his lip. Tommy sighed. He wasn’t sure of what to say. All he knew was that he was restless to do something—anything. He glanced back at Tubbo. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tubbo wasn’t looking at Tommy, instead focusing at his feet. It’s been tense. Tommy didn’t blame Tubbo for that. That was all Wilbur’s fault. Everything has been tense, awkward, suffocatingly so. It was hard to just have fun, not when Manberg and Pogtopia were threatening to tear them apart. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tommy would never allow it. As much as Wilbur tried to convince him Tubbo would betray him if given the chance, Tommy never believed it. Tubbo would never do that to him. They were thick as thieves, brothers in all but blood. They had a bond that nothing would ever sever, a bond that Wilbur would never ever understand.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Despite the tenseness, it was nice having Tubbo at his side. It’s always been them against the world, after all. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tommy leaned back against the stair. “We need a game plan,” He said. “Have a plan that doesn’t involve fuckin’ explosions. Prepare ourselves for Schlatt </span>
  <em>
    <span>and </span>
  </em>
  <span>Wilbur.” He ran a hand across his hair. “Maybe try to convince Wilbur to snap out of it, too.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Tommy,” Tubbo started, finally turning to look at Tommy. “Do you… have you entertained the idea that maybe… he’s too far gone?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Yes, his mind thinks quickly.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“...Don’t say that,” Tommy said. “That’s not—I can still convince him. He was having second thoughts at the festival, remember?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, but,” Tubbo said. “After what happened. He was… I don’t want to worry you, but he seemed more unhinged.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tommy looked down. He knew that. Maybe it was the optimist in him, or perhaps it was the kid who just wanted to believe his brother wasn’t capable of this, but he felt like he could bring Wilbur back from the brink, before Wilbur truly destroyed himself.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He hadn’t detonated L’manberg yet. There was still a chance.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Tommy,” Tubbo said. “If he’s too far gone… we need to talk about what we’ll do about him.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“...we’ll cross that bridge when we get there,” Tommy said, getting up. “Look, let’s plan, alright? Let’s worry about that later. One thing at a time. Schlatt’s our enemy, </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>Wilbur.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tubbo nodded, albeit hesitantly. “If you’re sure…”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tommy wasn’t sure. He really wasn’t.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He climbed up the steps back to the top room of Pogtopia, digging out the entrance. Tubbo followed along, silent. Tommy wanted to scout Manberg for now—no one should be there now, which made this the optimal time to check. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>...not to mention he should probably check on where exactly Wilbur laid out that TNT. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He looked up, before tensing and raising his arm behind him, a gesture for Tubbo to stop. Tubbo frowned, before looking up and seeing what Tommy’s seeing.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Mask and hood. Dream. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Dream,” Tommy said carefully. He was uncertain if Dream was an ally—he was certainly Wilbur’s, and he’s fought alongside Tommy, but he wasn’t sure if Dream was more Wilbur’s ally than Tommy’s. The man was unpredictable, though his desire to help reclaim L’manberg seemed earnest enough. Still, Wilbur’s disturbed ramblings of Dream’s two-faced nature echoed in the back of his mind. He ignored it. “What are you doing here?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Just, uh, wanted to check on you,” Dream said. “I heard what happened at the festival. You doing okay?” He glanced at Tubbo. “Tubbo, you holding up?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“He’s fine,” Tommy said, ignoring how Tubbo glared at Tommy for speaking for him. “You can go now.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Despite Dream’s willingness to work with them as of late, it was hard to forget all their scuffles and fights, hard to forget that this same man has destroyed and ruined them time and time again. Tommy might be willing to forgive, but not forget. Never forget.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Sorry,” Dream said. “I really should’ve thought this visit through. But uh, I stopped by to mention that if you ever need anyone in your corner, I’m here.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I know, your little note said as much,” Tommy said. “Helping from the shadows and shit. I get it.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dream nods. “Like I said. If you need anything, let me know. I’ve got resources.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“...why are you helping us?” Tubbo asked, quirking a brow. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dream glanced at Tubbo. The mask didn’t offer any insight as to what Dream was thinking. “I’m sure Tommy’s told you we have an alliance.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, but you also gave Wilbur a stack of TNT to blow up Manberg,” Tubbo said. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dream sighed. “Look, I know you two are idealistic or whatever, but sometimes in war, you just have to make those kinds of decisions, okay? I’m sure Wilbur knows what he’s doing.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Except you </span>
  <em>
    <span>know </span>
  </em>
  <span>he doesn’t,” Tommy cuts in with a frown. “You heard him. He was fucking crazy.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Dream went silent. “...I think,” Dream says after a moment. “That Wilbur knows how to make hard decisions, and while he seems—well unstable is putting it lightly—he’s doing this for the country.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tommy can’t agree with that. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Dream doesn’t want us to win, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Wilbur’s voice whispers at the back of his mind. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Dream just wants both Pogtopia and Manberg to be weak.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He can’t believe that, either. If he does, it’d mean giving into Wilbur’s maddened rants and if he starts to believe that, he’d start believing everything Wilbur says.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>So he just nods, despite not entirely buying what Dream said.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Right,” He said. “Speaking of—have you seen Wilbur?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“No,” Dream said. “You could check Manberg. I think I might’ve seen Techno there earlier...”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Why would they be in—” Tommy said, cutting himself off. He pales. Wilbur’s in L’manberg. No one was around. The </span>
  <em>
    <span>one reason </span>
  </em>
  <span>why Wilbur hesitated was because there were people at the festival, and despite what he says Wilbur hadn’t wanted to hurt any of them. If there was no one around…  “Oh </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He grabs Tubbo’s wrist. “We have to go.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Wha—”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He runs past Dream, dragging Tubbo as he hurries. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>The festival, Technoblade had said. Judging from all the decorations, that must have been recent. It wasn’t really sinking in, though. He felt detached. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He stared off, not quite focusing on what he was staring at. Static buzzed in the back of Wilbur’s mind. The noise was loud and unchanging, a constant sound of white noise that only grew louder by the second. He felt numb, though he almost always did after crying like that. He hasn’t cried like that in a while, though. He felt cold, the air brushing against his skin feeling like the chilly air of the tundra.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He never liked the cold. He didn’t like it’s hostility. Didn’t like how it wrapped itself around Wilbur, how it was unkind and demanding and yet familiar, like it was an old friend he now despised. The cold coiled around his neck and constricted, and it was suffocating, killing him slowly. Despite this, however, he knew the glacial fingers of his old friend would never kill him, because he was its favorite toy, one that always never failed to amuse with his despair. It would always leave Wilbur near death, gasping for breath and letting go at the last second, just enough for him to cling to life.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He deserves it, though. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Wilbur looked up, Technoblade’s words sounding almost muffled. He didn’t really want to hear more, if he were being honest. Today’s been awful enough. </span>
  <em>
    <span>He’s</span>
  </em>
  <span> been awful enough. He doesn’t know what Techno thinks he could say to make Wilbur feel better about all this, because Wilbur was sure nothing will.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He didn’t want to be here anymore. He just wanted to go back to Techno’s base and lay in bed. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“—Wilbur?” Techno’s words cut through the fog in Wilbur’s mind.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah?” Wilbur said, blinking and looking at Techno. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You okay? You zoned out there.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Not really,” Wilbur admits. “But I’ll be fine. What were you saying?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“The festival,” Technoblade said. “Can you remind me what I’ve told you again?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Wilbur doesn’t want to. He doesn’t want to have to repeat the mistakes he’s apparently made, because saying it out loud makes it real, and making it real means that Wilbur has to think about it, and Wilbur wants nothing more than to forget it all and pretend he’s back in L’manberg, pretend he’s back fighting a war, because the blacks and whites of war was easier to deal with than the greys of his present self.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He really doesn’t want Technoblade to tell him anything more than what he already knows. He’s probably been worse. Probably done worse. He doesn’t want to know. He doesn’t want to know just how fucked up he can be.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>You already know the answer to that</span>
  </em>
  <span>, a part of him whispers sinisterly, and he ignores it, focusing instead back on Techno. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You’ve told me how Schlatt got elected president and me and Tommy got exiled out of our own country,” He said, voice devoid of any real emotion. He was just so tired. He just wanted to get through this. “We started Pogtopia to rebel against a democratically elected leader. You told me about how I gave up and started making deals with my worst enemy.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>The white noise in his head grew louder. He wanted to tune it out, to turn down the noise, but he couldn’t. It was deafening and didn’t go away. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He didn’t look at Technoblade in the eyes. He didn’t want to.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Right,” Techno said. “A few weeks ago, Schlatt announced a festival to celebrate democracy. That’s, uh, around the time you started to realize this Pogtopia thing might not be entirely morally sound.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>So Wilbur had been foolish enough to think this was a noble endeavor at some point. When will he learn he would always be wicked? He was always stubborn enough to think otherwise, always stupid enough to think he could ever change. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He really did think he could’ve. But he always failed.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Disappointment bubbled in his chest. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“So,” Techno continued, clearing his throat when Wilbur didn’t respond. “You rigged the city.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>That got Wilbur’s attention. “With—with TNT?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Technoblade nodded. “...yeah,” He said. “I think it’s still here. But yeah, the bottomline is—you kinda messed up that whole thing during the festival, so Manberg’s still here. But that’s not the point.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>TNT. He planned to bomb Manberg (</span>
  <em>
    <span>L’manberg</span>
  </em>
  <span>, his mind corrects, though is it still even that same land anymore?). Planned to destroy everything he built. The land he created to be safe from violence. The land that was meant to be free from all this. How was that not the point? How many more awful things has Wilbur done that Technoblade didn’t even know about? Probably more. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“The point is, Tubbo had been Pogtopia’s spy during all this. Schlatt kept him in as the secretary of state. Schlatt had Tubbo decorate the festival,” Techno said. Those words meant nothing to Wilbur. All he focused on was his failure, his failure to even be the fraction of the man he tried to be in the war. Did he ask Tubbo to spy for him, too? Was that another failure of his? Making a kid fight his battles for him again? “...Wilbur, the festival was a setup.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Schlatt found out. He had Tubbo executed.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Wilbur froze.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He began all too aware of his heart pounding against his chest, the blood rushing in his ears. He looked up to stare at Techno, desperately hoping that he would go and say Tubbo managed to escape before he got hurt, but Techno’s face was serious. Dread tugged at Wilbur’s chest. He was going to be sick.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Tubbo was just a kid. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>That was his fault too, huh? </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Who—who killed him?” Wilbur whispered. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Techno looked away, avoiding Wilbur’s gaze.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh,” Wilbur said, eyes widening in horror. “Oh no. You… you didn’t.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Techno didn’t say anything. Wilbur’s heart dropped.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Hey, at least you’re not the only piece of shit around here, </span>
  </em>
  <span>his mind whispers traitorously. </span>
  <em>
    <span>It runs in the family. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Technoblade, you didn’t.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I had to,” Techno said, finally looking at Wilbur. He smiled weakly. “You know me. I succumb to even the mildest amounts of pressure.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“How was this supposed to make me feel better?” Wilbur asked quietly, disbelief barely lacing his tone. He shook his head, taking a step back from Technoblade. “I… I trusted you.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“And you really shouldn’t have,” Techno admits. “Wilbur, listen—you’re blaming the wrong guy. Schlatt—”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Called the order, but you pulled the trigger,” Wilbur snapped, anger shooting through the haze of nothingness. He took another step back, distrust etched in his features with the way he stared at Techno and knit his brow. “How could you?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“In my defense,” Techno said. “You were the one who made Tubbo a spy.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Wilbur faltered. “I…” </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m sure I had my reasons</span>
  </em>
  <span> is what he wanted to say, but that was a lie, wasn't it? He always tried to justify his actions, tried to shift the blame, tried to avoid any responsibility. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>This was still his fault. It always is. He never changes. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He looked down at his hands. They were shaking. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Wilbur,” Techno said cautiously. He placed a hand on Wilbur’s shoulder. Wilbur tensed but didn’t pull away. “You’re placing the blame on the wrong guy.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Wilbur couldn’t agree more. He was to blame. No one else.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I know you think this is all your fault,” Technoblade said. “But it’s not.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>He’s lying to you</span>
  </em>
  <span>, his mind thinks. He ignores it. Wilbur listens to Techno, anyway, because as much as he hates to admit it, maybe a part of him wants to blame something else, to find something to place his anger at. It was easier, wasn’t it? That was why he always did it. Much easier to blame someone else for the problems he creates.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Hell, it’s not even Schlatt’s fault,” Techno said. “Do you know what’s to blame?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“What?” Wilbur asked, lifting his eyes up from his hands to look at Techno in the eyes. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“The one common factor in this whole thing is power,” Techno said. “You kinda went insane because you lost that power. Schlatt went mad with it and had Tubbo executed. I mean, I caved into his demands because in the moment, I was scared of what he could do with that power. Wilbur, it’s not about the people—it’s about the </span>
  <em>
    <span>government.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Wilbur froze. He pulled away from Technoblade, staring at Techno. “...What?”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You heard me,” Techno said. “None of this would’ve happened if you never formed L’manberg, Wilbur. That power—it’s why you did all of that. It’s why Schlatt did all of that. Wilbur, if you get rid of that seat of power, all of this goes away. You’re not a bad person, Wilbur—no one is exempt from being corrupted by power.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Wilbur doesn’t know what to think about that.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“I…”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>There’s almost desperation in Technoblade’s voice, as if trying to convince Wilbur of an ideal that Wilbur probably believed once, but not now. This was a lot. And as much as Wilbur believed this was all his fault, Techno’s admission to killing Tubbo had shattered his faith in his brother. Trust. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Techno had asked for Wilbur’s trust. Omitted facts. And Wilbur had blindly trusted him.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Even after finding out he had worked with Dream, Wilbur still trusted Techno. He trusted Techno even after all these lies and hidden truths.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>But this—no.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It was too much.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He didn’t blame Techno, he thinks as he pushes past Techno and breaks off into a sprint, instinctively taking out a potion of swiftness and downing it quickly. He doesn’t blame Techno. But he doesn’t trust him.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He can’t.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Technoblade calls after him. Maybe there was a point to Technoblade’s words, but at the moment they meant nothing to Wilbur. He couldn’t find it in him to care about ideals, not when he found out his own have shattered and that his poetic words and noble ideas were nothing more than falsehoods he told himself to make himself sleep better at night.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He kept running, until his knees buckled and exhaustion overtook him. He doesn’t know where he is. The sun sets on the horizon and idly he thinks </span>
  <em>
    <span>good, the monsters can take me, </span>
  </em>
  <span>but he knows that even if he is mauled to death by zombies he would come back, because fate is cruel and only permits the deaths that matter to stick. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Wilbur pants, leaning against a tree and pressing a palm against its bark. He falls against it, heaving. He was so tired. But he can’t go back to Techno’s base. Can’t go back to Pogtopia. He doesn’t know what he’d do if he saw Tommy, not after what he knew now.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He doesn’t know what to do.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“You were right,” He choked out, looking up at the sky. He could feel their eyes on him, cold and unfeeling. “I’m awful.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>this is the longest chapter ive written for this i think its wildly unedited lmaoo <br/><i>clears throat</i> Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this chapter still! This went wildly different from my outline, but I think it worked out well :) Thanks for reading!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0020"><h2>20. proposition</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>tensions are high and a proposal is made.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>There was something unsettling in the way Tommy looked at Tubbo.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Tubbo was uncertain of how, and he certainly wasn’t one to use his feelings over logic, so while the facts showed that Tommy was fine if a bit shaken by the festival, something in Tubbo can’t help but feel as if something has shifted. Things were normal, and yet his instincts felt as if they were not, as if something had changed and Tubbo simply couldn’t point out what.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Perhaps it was because he knew his friend so well. The slightest hint of change never went unnoticed by Tubbo</span>
  <span>—he understood Tommy intricately and deeply enough to see the even most imperceptible of changes. Change never bothered Tubbo, really. It was a constant of life, a universal thing that one could never shy away from. An insistence on sticking to how things are could do more harm than good, and leave people close minded and unable to accept innovation. Respect tradition and accept change, he likes to think. </span>
  <span><br/>
<br/>
</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So he knew he shouldn’t feel bothered by this. Tommy has changed, far more than he should have—war and their constant strife with Dream has forced Tommy to grow up faster than any kid should have ever have had to. But still, despite the constant change around them, Tommy, at his core, remained the same. And Tubbo was, too. And despite how the world around them has forced them both to adapt and to change along with it, there was one constant that Tubbo knew would never waver. They had each other. It was the one thing either of them could rely on—this unbreakable thread that tied them together. A link that kept them close no matter the distance. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That connection is perhaps why Tubbo felt as if something was wrong. H</span>
  <span>e glanced at Tommy, uncertainty bubbling in him. Tommy was grinning, laughing about something he did, and there was this look in his eyes</span>
  <span>—confident and snarky as always, and yet as they looked at Tubbo, there was something almost dark, something almost disturbing in the way Tommy’s eyes shifted and looked at his friend.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>He could attribute it to Eret’s betrayal—Tubbo had been shaken over it, refusing to believe it for weeks until it sank in completely. It had been difficult, and Tubbo was sure he had changed over it, too. So logically, Tommy would have had to go through that, too. Tubbo knew that Tommy had been troubled immediately following the festival, but shortly after it was like a switch was turned on and Tommy had been back to normal, laughing and messing around with everyone else as he always did.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But… it shouldn’t have gone back to normal, Tubbo thinks. Not with the aftermath of the betrayal. Surely that should have shaken L’manberg to its core. Surely Wilbur’s maddened smile and the axe in Eret’s back should have done something more than cause a week of distress. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He wasn’t strong enough to voice this out, and he wasn’t sure of how Wilbur would take it. It wasn’t treason, but there was something final in the way Wilbur had spoken in the festival—</span>
  <em>
    <span>nothing good happens to traitors.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Tubbo shuddered. It wasn’t as if Wilbur discouraged questions—that was antithetical to the tenets of L’manberg’s code, which encouraged and fostered freedom. Wilbur had been open to dissent during the revolution, and Tubbo didn’t think Wilbur would turn his back on that ideal now. (Although, he thinks, Wilbur placing himself as acting president didn’t seem at all to abide by those ideals, either.)</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Still, there was something off-putting in the way that Wilbur had acted. It was far too reminiscent of that night in the camarvan, and Tubbo wonders if Wilbur had been entirely honest in his explanations. He had brushed it off at first, believing the leader knew what he was doing, but now…? Tubbo wasn’t entirely sure.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He leaned against the side of the bench, and beside him Tommy frowned. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“What’re you thinking about?” Tommy asked. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Stuff,” Tubbo said. He wasn’t sure how to explain it, and he knew he shouldn’t keep secrets from Tommy, but the look in Tommy’s eyes at Tubbo’s response disturbed him. There was a flash of irritation—a sort of irritation that looked dark and not at all harmless. Paranoia, perhaps? That would certainly make sense, and would certainly make Tubbo’s worries seem less irrational, and yet his instincts seemed to refuse the explanation, insisting that there must be more.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Alright then,” Tommy said, and Tubbo had half-expected him to pry. Tubbo frowned. Tommy leaned back on the bench, staring off into the distance. The two fell into silence, tense and awkward and uncomfortable.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Despite Tommy literally being by his side, Tubbo couldn’t help but feel as if there was distance between them—an invisible sort of gap that stood in between them, a gap that stretched far enough to thin the thread that bound them together. It felt different, even if Tommy acted the same. </span>
</p><p>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Tubbo looked down, biting down at his lip. “I… uh. I guess I should get going,” He said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I still have some paperwork to do.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“...okay,” Tommy said, and Tubbo stood up, letting out a quiet goodbye before hurrying off.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It wasn’t a lie, really, considering Wilbur’s current projects required Dream’s approval. He was building on SMPlands, after all, trying to claim the land surrounding L’manberg as their own. So, of course, as the assigned secretary of state, Tubbo would have to deal with state matters, even if Wilbur was the one who pushed for them. It was a little irritating, if Tubbo were being honest, but he would never outright say it. It was his job, anyway, while Wilbur’s job was to create plans and shake hands with the devil.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>In the name of our newfound partnership, Dream</span>
  </em>
  <span>—</span>
  <em>
    <span>would you care to do the honors?</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He shook the thought away, trying to focus on the present. It wasn’t as if Tubbo avoided thinking of what happened. There was just a difference between wallowing in the past and learning from things that have occurred. It was far more useful to use facts and logic, rather than allow emotions to sway your decisions. Sentimentality and nostalgia were things he’d never sever, of course—to detach yourself from emotion would be more detrimental than if you bought into them. Emotion is what drives us, after all, and without it logic and rationality were meaningless constructs that were built on nothing. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>So he thinks of Dream and Wilbur. Independence had been achieved through negotiation, and yet—no one was in the room where it happened. None of Dream’s men, and none of Wilbur’s. They had come from an impossible stalemate with neither side wavering to Dream signing their independence, declaring L’manberg free of the SMPlands. What could Wilbur have possibly said?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There was something more to this, Tubbo was sure. There had to be, if Wilbur’s apparent vision weeks ago meant anything. Not to mention Dream changing his mind seemed like complete bullcrap, considering Dream was ruthless and bent to no one’s will but his own. So there was surely something more to all this. Tubbo just wasn’t sure what, and couldn’t ascertain whether or not that bode well for L’manberg. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>He stepped into the outskirts of L’manberg’s territory, looking up at the walls. The capitol had been largely undeveloped, but Tubbo wanted to propose some projects to create more infrastructure and redstone machinery to make life easier within the country’s borders. The beginnings of a second wall had begun to be built, further from the original walls and closed in the festival area. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Wilbur’s estate was just up on the hill. Tubbo made his way over, admiring the flora surrounding the house and the bees that flitted over the flowers. He walked through the path, looking up at the chateau. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Wilbur had always been a good builder, Tubbo thinks. Growing up, at least, Tubbo saw Wilbur’s knack for architecture. He was never the best, but Wilbur did have an eye for design. Truthfully, Tubbo never knew Wilbur all too well, even when Phil took Tubbo in. He had been friendly, been kind—and yet there seemed to be an imperceptible wall between Wilbur and the rest of them, one that kept everyone at arm’s length. Even as Wilbur laughed and joked and talked, he still remained an enigma. Even now, even after fighting a war for him, Wilbur still remained a mystery. And perhaps that could be a good thing, every leader had to have their secrets, after all, but with the way this was shaping up Tubbo was becoming more uncertain as to whether or not Wilbur’s intentions aligned with his.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tubbo knocked on the door, rapping his knuckles against the dark oak of the door. He waited, leaning back and balancing his weight on his heels. He rocked back and forth, hands behind his back as he stared at the door. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>There was some trepidation in Tubbo, surely, at the thought of seeing Wilbur. There always was, after that night in the camarvan, and especially after the festival. Tubbo tried not to let his fears grip him, but it was hard not to, and it was only understandable that he was upset. As much as Tubbo liked to let logic lead him, he was only human after all, and humans are nothing if not led by their fears.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Wilbur was different, Tubbo knew. He had changed after that night, in a way none of them could understand. The change had gone unnoticed, but the events of Eret’s execution had brought Wilbur’s behavior that night back to the surface, and while Tubbo didn’t think change was all too bad, the sudden shift was concerning, the same way Tommy’s was. But for now, he’d play his part. He can figure things out as he goes along. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>The door swung open, and he was greeted to Wilbur, who smiled. “Ah, Tubbo. Just the person I wanted to see.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Really?” Tubbo asked, quirking a brow as he stepped inside the house, taking no time to admire the surroundings. He’s been inside far too many a time, and he knew his way around the house. Wilbur walked ahead, and Tubbo didn’t bother to walk alongside him. Wilbur was the president, and Tubbo was just one of his men. He’d stay close behind. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Of course,” Wilbur said cheerily. He had been far more cheerful as of late, Tubbo noticed. It shouldn't have been unnerving, but it was like at Eret’s execution, something in Wilbur’s walls had cracked—like a dam that was keeping something at bay and now it was free, and Wilbur was unable to hold it back. It was far too similar to that night in the van. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>It seemed like everything went back to that. Everything off about Wilbur—it all came back to that night. Tubbo knits his brow, staring at Wilbur’s back as Wilbur led him through the halls. There had certainly been something supernatural with the way Wilbur had screamed and fell, with the way he clawed at his throat and the way Wilbur had been icy cold to the touch. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Wilbur turned around and looked at Tubbo, quirking a brow. “Are you alright, Tubbo?” He frowned.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Tubbo blinked. “Ah—sorry. I was just thinking.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“About…?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Honesty, perhaps, would be the best solution, though Tubbo was unsure of how Wilbur would take the question. “Independence day,” Tubbo says. A half-truth was the best thing to settle on. Wilbur’s frown deepens at that, and something dangerous flashes in his eye at Tubbo’s words. “It was a little jarring.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“But surely you understand why I had to do that,” Wilbur said, tilting his head to the side. “Right, Tubbo?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Of course,” Tubbo said hurriedly. “It’s like you said… L’manberg will never truly be free if we have liars in our ranks.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>A noble idea, certainly, which is why Tubbo wasn’t lying when he said he understood, but it didn’t necessarily mean he had to agree. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“So then what’s the problem?” Wilbur asked, turning around and beginning to walk. Tubbo followed, eyeing Wilbur uneasily. Wilbur’s words were light, careful, and yet dangerous—it was like underneath his words he said, </span>
  <em>
    <span>don’t test me. </span>
  </em>
  <span>“Was it the execution?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Tubbo nodded slowly. “Er, yes. It wasn’t expected. You could’ve at least given us a warning, you know.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Wilbur relaxed at that. He shrugged. “I didn’t want Eret knowing I knew about his betrayal.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Tubbo frowned. “You thought one of us would leak it?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“It’s not that I distrust my men, Tubbo,” Wilbur said, glancing at Tubbo coolly. “It’s just that sometimes people act like they know what they’re doing when they really don’t. We’re all driven by one thing, Tubbo, and that’s fear. Some people can’t manage that, and it leads them to do stupid things. I trust that you all have your hearts in the right place, but telling you all of a man’s betrayal would’ve caused panic. I couldn’t have that.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Wilbur’s words made sense, which is why Tubbo didn’t say anything else as Wilbur kept walking through the halls. The two weren’t in any particular hurry, so Tubbo glanced at the sides of the hall, avoiding the way Wilbur’s eyes stared at him. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>The sides of the hall were lined with paintings and little trinkets on display—things Wilbur must’ve collected as treasures. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Something caught the edge of Tubbo’s vision. Tubbo stopped, blinking as he walked over a hallway table. There was a vase at the center of the table, with cornflowers tucked neatly inside. The flowers hunched over, the petals weighed down by something. Gravity tugged at them, and Tubbo squinted to get a better look. Blue dripped from the tip of a petal, and out of curiosity Tubbo reached a finger out, seeking to touch it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It was cool to the touch, not quite icy—it was more akin to the coolness of a fresh breeze. Tubbo shuddered, staring down at his finger. It was stained with whatever that was. He frowned, before suddenly feeling a shock of misery, and on instinct he wiped it on his shirt, and the misery disappeared.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“...Tubbo?” Wilbur turned his head, frowning as he saw Tubbo by the flowers. “Ah.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“What is that?” Tubbo asked, taking in a breath. “That was… certainly odd.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Wilbur walked over. “I call it blue,” He said, picking up a flower. The color dripped off the flower, like thinned paint. “It starts off transparent, and over time it becomes blue. I don’t know what it is, all I know it makes me feel better.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Wilbur shrugged, placing the flower back in the vase. He let out a quiet chuckle. “Though that seems a bit silly of me, doesn’t it. I suppose you could see it as a form of escapism. A drug, if you will.” He laughs. He looks at Tubbo. “It loses its effectiveness once it consumes your sadness. All that’s left is, well—blue.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Is that why…” Tubbo trails off, glancing at the flowers, opaque and bright and saturated. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Wilbur places a hand on Tubbo’s back, leading him away from the vase. “We have more important matters to attend to,” He said. He looked down at Tubbo, pulling his hand away. “I did say I had been hoping to see you.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What for?” Tubbo asked. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I had been hoping to automate some things,” Wilbur said, and Tubbo blinked, suddenly more attentive. “You’re a redstone expert, after all—I was hoping you’d help work on some projects?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh! Well, I had come to talk to you about that, actually!” Tubbo said, brightening. Now that was good news. Wilbur stopped in his tracks, turning to a door and swinging it open. He entered, and Tubbo stepped inside after him. It was Wilbur’s study. “I have some redstone projects in mind, I just need your approval.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“I’m glad we’re on the same page, then,” Wilbur said, smiling. “I was thinking we do a railway system in the SMP? It’d help us get around faster, and it’d help even people who aren’t our citizens. It’d benefit everyone.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“And we could profit off it, too,” Tubbo murmured, nodding. Not a bad idea, surely. It would be easy enough, just time consuming. This was surely different. Despite everything in him screaming that Wilbur was off, that Wilbur was different, this was still good. It was just a public works project, and it’d help everyone in the long run. It reminds Tubbo of the Wilbur before the revolution, bright eyed and eager to help everyone. Perhaps he was still there, behind the uniform and behind the backdoor dealings. “That’s not a bad idea.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Wilbur smiled, turning around and looking through the bookshelf. Tubbo allowed himself to look around the room, pausing as he looked at the desk. There were papers strewn around, some government papers, while some looked ancient, with the letters written in the ancient language of the End. The runic language, Tubbo recognizes. The letters of enchantment. He frowns, glancing back at Wilbur, who was still facing away from Tubbo. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tubbo picked up a paper. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Transtemporal journey, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he translates. </span>
  <em>
    <span>A displacement in not only space but time. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Before he reads the rest, he notices something else on the desk. He sets the paper down. A photograph was underneath some of the papers. Tubbo frowned, reaching out for it. He saw the edge of the picture—a red beanie and a peace sign, and the top of another person’s head, their hair short and dark. Before Tubbo could clearly see what was on it Wilbur suddenly snatched it away.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tubbo took a step back. Wilbur was breathing heavily, his eyes wide as he looked down at Tubbo. “I—” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>The sound of knocking from all the way downstairs cut him off. Wilbur tucked the photo inside his pocket, running a hand through his hair and adjusting his collar. “—give me a second.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Wilbur walked over to the door, glancing at Tubbo before closing the door, leaving Tubbo alone in the room. That was… odd. Of course, if Wilbur wanted privacy, Tubbo would certainly respect that, but curiosity made Tubbo wonder what exactly was on that photo. Wilbur was always secretive, and not counting that night in the camarvan, Wilbur was also relatively calm in most situations. Tubbo raised a brow, looking back at the papers on Wilbur’s desk. He didn’t see much of the paper, earlier, and perhaps Wilbur would note the paper’s absence, so Tubbo risked a quick peek.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He picked the paper back up. There were notes on the side, written in conventional runic—less formal and easier to understand, though far easier to misinterpret. Wilbur’s handwriting. </span>
  <em>
    <span>DID NOT REVERSE, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Tubbo translates. </span>
  <em>
    <span>DIFFERENT. GODS?</span>
  </em>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“What the hell does that even mean?” Tubbo muttered. He tensed suddenly, placing the paper smackdown on the desk when he hears voices from the other side of the door.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“—when the hell were you planning to talk to me?” Fundy’s voice cuts thick through the walls. “You’ve done nothing but avoid me since independence day—fuck, since Dream signed off on it. What the hell is wrong with you?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“I don’t have time for this,” Tubbo hears Wilbur say, impatient. “I wouldn’t have let you in if I knew you were just going to berate me.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Oh, you never have time for me, do you?” Fundy shoots back. Tubbo feels a hint of guilt at the fact he’s overhearing this, but another more childish part of him is giddy with excitement, eager to find out more. “You clearly had more than enough time planning a fucking execution!”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>He hears the shuffling of feet behind the door. Heavy footsteps thudded against carpeted floors. “Are you going to answer me?” Fundy snaps. “Or are you going to keep ignoring me like you always do?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“You’re being immature,” Wilbur said, scoffing. “You’re the one who kept complaining I never gave you space. Now I have. What do you </span>
  <em>
    <span>want </span>
  </em>
  <span>from me?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“To look at me!” Fundy yells. “To maybe have some fucking respect for me! No matter what, you never listen! You’re always—argh!”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Silence. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Tubbo frowns, tempted to peek outside to see what was happening. Fundy was clearly upset, and it wasn’t as if it was unfounded, but… </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“...Fundy,” Wilbur’s voice cuts through the tension like a knife. “I’m sorry, but I need you to leave.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Fundy lets out a laugh—bitter and cold. “Of course you do,” Fundy said. “You never change, you know that, right?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Another silence. Tubbo walked over to the door, leaning his ear against it to hear if they were just being quiet. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“—even Eret bothered to listen to me, and he wanted this country dead,” Fundy hissed. “So don’t come at me with your excuses.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“I promised you this world, Fundy,” Wilbur said. “Sorry if I can’t give you more than that.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>A scoff. “Right,” Fundy said. Another laugh. Resentful. “Right.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>From the corner of Tubbo’s vision, he sees the knob turn, but he moves too slowly and he falls over as Wilbur swings the door open. Tubbo falls over ungracefully, falling down on his face. “Oof—”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tubbo looks up to see Fundy’s bewildered expression and Wilbur’s look of confusion. He smiled sheepishly. “Uh… hey. Would you believe me if I said I was just checking out the door?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Fundy and Wilbur exchanged looks. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“I take it that’s a no?” Tubbo said. He gets up, brushing the dirt off his pants. “Well, it’s been lovely, but I’ll be seeing you! Bye Wilbur, oh Fundy you’re here too, I didn’t know, bye—”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <em>
    <span>Get out get out get out</span>
  </em>
  <span>—</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tubbo walks past them awkwardly, hurriedly making his way through the hall and sprinting as soon as he was out of sight. He swung the front door open and threw himself outside, slamming the door behind him shut. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>That was certainly a mood killer, Tubbo thinks, breathing heavily. He pushes himself off the door, glancing at the window above him. Fundy and Wilbur must still be talking, right? Man, he really ruined the mood there. But despite that, at least Tubbo was aware of Fundy’s apprehensions. So Tubbo wasn’t the only one who saw that the execution was less than, er, moral. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>He hurried away from the estate, finding himself at the border of L’manberg’s walls. No one else was around. The walls loomed over them and yet the city was empty, with nothing but a single van in the middle of everything.  It was almost lonely. He sighed, stepping inside the capitol. It was fine. Wilbur was willing to do public works projects, so maybe the entire execution thing was a one-off thing, right? They’d be able to focus more on progress. Focus on helping everyone else.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The visit still brought more questions than answers, though. Like those papers on Wilbur’s desk. Transtemporal journey? Gods?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sorry about that,” Tubbo hears from behind him, and he whirls around to see Fundy walking over, hands in his pockets. “I didn’t know you were there.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“I was the one eavesdropping, you’re fine,” Tubbo said. “Are things okay now, though?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Fundy shrugged. “Eh… maybe. I don’t know. He didn’t seem open to my ideas, though he did say he’d listen more. Honestly, I think he’s just saying that to get me to shut up. Wouldn’t be the first time.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Tubbo frowned. “That’s…”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Not normal?” Fundy let out a laugh. He looks down, smile fading. “Yeah. I get that a lot.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Can I ask you something?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Fundy frowned, looking at Tubbo questioningly. “Sure. What about?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Wilbur raised you, right?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“...if you’re going to ask me about how I was conceived by a salmon, I can’t answer that.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“What, no—” Tubbo said, shaking his head. “I mean, I’m also curious in that regard, but that’s not the point. What do you know about the gods?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Fundy blinked. “As in, those gods?” He asked, pointing at the sky. His eyes widened. “Wait, you don’t think that night is still important, do you?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“It could still be,” Tubbo said, walking further inside L’manberg. Fundy follows behind him. “I don’t know. When I was in Wilbur’s study I saw he had notes on something, and he mentioned gods.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“...great, more secrets,” Fundy murmured. “Wonder what more Wilbur hides from me. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Fantastic.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tubbo looks down at the ground, stopping as he reached the tree behind the camarvan. His secret entrance should be around here… </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“I’m just saying,” Tubbo said, hopping inside the tunnel. Fundy frowned, kneeling over the entrance. Tubbo gestures for him to follow. “We haven’t really thought about it, but I think we should look into it now.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Fundy jumps inside. Tubbo walks ahead, turning left into his bunker. “Whoa,” Fundy said. “What’s this?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“I built it after Eret’s execution,” Tubbo said. “I wanted a place to keep my things. And uh, as a hideout. Just in case.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>The </span>
  <em>
    <span>in case Wilbur thinks I betrayed him</span>
  </em>
  <span> goes unsaid. Fundy nods, looking around curiously, tail flicking behind him. “So gods, you said?” Fundy asked. “Because I don’t know a ton, but I remember Wilbur used to tell me stories when I was a kid. Didn’t really think they were real, though.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“He’s their chosen, isn’t he?” Tubbo asked. “I think I remember Wilbur mentioning that once…”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Fundy shrugged. “Hell if I know,” He said, fishing through a double chest. “He’s fucking weird, man. Honestly I think he could be delusional sometimes.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Tubbo frowned. “I mean, </span>
  <em>
    <span>I </span>
  </em>
  <span>believe in the occult.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“That’s different,” Fundy said. “Will’s just—he’s too into it, I guess?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“What do you mean?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Fundy glanced at Tubbo. “I don’t know. It’s not even just about the gods, or whatever. He always just throws himself into a sense of purpose, you know? Like now, he’s so fucking focused on being the president and L’manberg. You get what I mean?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Tubbo nodded. “I think I do.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Fundy sighed. He shut the chest’s lid. “Look, I’ll take your word for it if you think Wilbur’s messing with dangerous shit right now. I mean, dealing with gods…?” Fundy crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. “Real or not, that shit’s dangerous.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“How so?” Tubbo asked, quirking a brow.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“I mean,” Fundy said. “You know how dreamons are fucking scary, right? But we </span>
  <em>
    <span>know </span>
  </em>
  <span>they’re evil. The sky gods…? From what Wilbur’s told me, they’re not evil.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“So that’s good, right?” Admittedly, Tubbo doesn’t know much about the gods. This wasn’t his forte. That was Wilbur’s. God, if Wilbur wasn’t possibly messed in the head right now it would be so easy to ask him. But they can’t. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Fundy shook his head. “They’re not evil, but they’re not good, either. They’re stone cold neutral, Tubbo, and that’s probably fucking scarier than anything else.” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Well, fuck.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Ah,” Tubbo said. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Ah.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Yep,” Fundy said. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Yep</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>This was quite possibly the dumbest fucking idea Quackity’s ever had, but he has to. With a shuddering breath, he enters the borders of L’manberg, Niki in tow. She had been supportive, despite her disagreeing with him on many things. She smiled at him encouragingly. It helped with the unease.</p><p>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Truthfully, he doesn’t know why he’s still doing this. He should have left ages ago, and yet he stayed. He doesn’t fully understand why, and Niki doesn’t let him have the time to think otherwise. Quackity sighed, tugging at his beanie. “Why am I doing this,” He muttered, tempted to turn around and stop all this, to just leave. He still could, at any time. But he hasn’t. “This is so stupid.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“It’s not stupid,” Niki said. “This is a good plan. You said it yourself. Democracy aligns perfectly with L’manberg’s code, Wilbur can’t say no—”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Except I don’t know what I’m fucking doing, Niki,” He said, exasperated. “I’m just some guy who thinks what Wilbur’s doing is fucked! Look around you, is anyone else questioning this? No! This is just—god, it’s so stupid.” He buries his head in his hands, letting out a groan. “I can’t do this.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“I think you’re the only one who can,” Niki said. “Look, I might not agree with you, but you at least believe in something, Quackity. And I can tell you want what's best for the nation, too. Wilbur will see that! He has to.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“I think you’re forgetting the part where I’m not a fucking citizen, Niki,” Quackity said, snapping his head back up to look at her dead in the eye. “He’d never agree to this. Shit, he might just kill me.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“I’m pretty sure that counts as a war crime since you’re not a citizen,” Niki pointed out. “So I don’t think he will.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Not helping!” Quackity said. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Sorry.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>He let out another groan. “This is stupid. This is stupid. This is—”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“You’ll be fine,” Niki insisted. “I’m sure the others will think this is a good idea, too. If Wilbur won’t allow it, his people will surely want him to. He’ll bend to pressure. It’ll be fine.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>He was tempted to shoot back, to tell her no, this will never work, but instead he clamps his mouth shut. She’s right. Even if Wilbur won’t listen, the others might. And that’s more than enough. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Quackity nodded. “...okay. This is fine. This will be fine. Yeah. I’ve got this.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>She smiles at him, and he saunters further inside with faux confidence. Then he realizes he has no idea where anyone else is, so he turns to look at Niki who points at the van. He nods, moving to walk towards it with the same false bravado he started with. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>He climbs up the van’s steps and presses the door’s button, and the iron door swings open. He takes a breath and steps inside. “Hell-o?” He asks, poking his head further inside.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Oh, hello big Q!” Tubbo waves at Quackity, grinning wide. Tommy was beside him, his arms crossed. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Hey,” Tommy said. “What’s up, big man?”</span>
  <span><br/>
<br/>
</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’re you two up to?” Quackity asked. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Making drugs,” Tommy said, gesturing towards the brewing stands.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Quackity let out a snort. “Right,” He said. He laughed. “What kind?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Oh, only the best kind,” Tommy said, taking a splash potion and throwing it at Quackity. The bottle shatters on impact, and as the potion hits Quackity’s skin he feels a burst of energy, like he could run a mile without breaking a sweat. “Swiftness. How is it?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Man, sometimes I forget you mentioned this country is literally built on making drugs,” Quackity said, shuddering from the rush of adrenaline in his veins. The effect fades quickly, and Quackity frowned. “Uh… that didn’t last very long.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“That’s because Tommy sucks at making these,” Tubbo said. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Tommy raised his hands defensively. “Hey, don’t blame the student, blame the teacher.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Wilbur taught the both of us!” Tubbo shot back. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Tommy shrugged. “Yeah, and that’s why yours suck.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“I—Tommy!”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Quackity cleared his throat. “Should I come by another time, or…?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“No, no, stay!” Tommy said. “What’s up?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Quackity took in a shaky breath. Now or never. He glanced back at the door. Man, he wished he let Niki come along. But he just had to insist on doing this alone. He looked at Tommy. Tommy looked at Quackity expectantly. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“I don’t want to dampen your spirits, but I need to mention,” Quackity said. “The obvious uh, event that happened a few weeks ago. I don’t know if you guys remember the festival?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Tommy raised a brow, glancing at Tubbo before turning to look back at Quackity. “We do.” Tommy’s voice was controlled, as if waiting to hear what Quackity said next. That didn’t make Quackity feel better.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Look,” Quackity said. “What Wilbur did was fucked up. I’m sure both of you can agree.”</span>
  <span><br/>
<br/>
</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tubbo opened his mouth to respond, but Tommy cuts him off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“And if we do?” Tommy asked.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“All I’m here is to say,” Quackity said. “L’manberg’s about freedom, right? So why not let the people be free to choose?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“...what are you saying.”</span>
  <span><br/>
<br/>
</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now or never, Alex. He takes a deep breath.</span>
</p><p>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“I’m saying, folks,” He said with a grin and as much confidence he can muster. “Is that we have an election.” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Tommy frowns. He looks at Tubbo.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Okay, this was awkward.</span>
  <span><br/>
<br/>
</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Neither of them say anything, and Quackity avoids looking at them. God, this was embarrassing. He wants to hide his face and never show himself in L’manberg ever again. Why did he ever think this was a good idea? </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Uh, well, that’s all I wanted to say,” Quackity said, scrambling to leave. As the iron door swings open he throws himself outside. The door slams shut behind him and he wants to tug at his hair. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“That was so stupid!” Quackity said, letting out a frustrated groan. “What did I think was going to happen? They’ll actually listen? Fuck, I knew I should’ve left.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Niki ran to his side. “What happened?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Dead air is what,” Quackity said. “I told you, Niki, no one ever listens to me! Why would they? I’m not the guy they want to hear. I’m not a leader, I’m not a president—I’m just a </span>
  <em>
    <span>guy</span>
  </em>
  <span>! I’m leaving, fuck. This wasn’t worth it.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Quackity—”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Just stop, Niki,” Quackity said. “You’ll only embarrass yourself.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>He huffs, beginning to walk away from the van. He never should have done this. He should have just listened to his instincts—should’ve left this crazy place behind and gone back to where he understood the rules. Where everything was just fun and pleasure and an eternity of nonstop lights and dancing.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Maybe he felt as if he could be more than that for once. Maybe that’s why he stayed. But that was a foolish endeavor, and he should’ve spared himself the time. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Quackity,” He hears from behind.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Niki,” He said, whirling around. “I thought I told you—”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>His voice dies down as he says the last word, eyes widening as he sees Tubbo. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Oh,” Quackity said.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Quackity,” Tubbo started. “I think you’re right.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“About what?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Holding an election,” Tubbo said. “Uphold democracy. It’s what L’manberg stands for. Wilbur… he hasn’t been the best leader as of late.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Understatement of the fucking century,” Quackity mutters bitterly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Anyway</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Tubbo said, clearing his throat. “The point is, after the events of independence day, we should let the people decide if Wilbur’s a fit ruler, right?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“So what are you saying?” </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“I’m saying I stand with you, Quackity,” Tubbo said. He sighed, rubbing his arm as his eyes darted down. “Look, Tommy’s been acting really weird recently, and I just… I think this might be the only way to get him to listen.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Quackity looked behind Tubbo. Niki nodded. He turned to look back at Tubbo. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Let’s go tell Wilbur, then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“What—now?” Tubbo sputtered, eyes widening.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Of course,” Quackity said, turning around and beginning to walk towards Wilbur’s estate. “I mean, nothing will happen if we don’t make our demands heard, right?”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“Yes, but—”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“...well, what are you waiting for?” Quackity asked, grinning. “Let’s go tell the big man himself what the people want.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Sorry this took me so long to write, haha. I think the last half of this chapter is a bit rushed, but I think we’re around halfway~ through the fic? (Or more than, but that depends on how I pace the next few parts.) Thanks to everyone who stuck around this long, it means a lot &lt;3 Happy new year!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0021"><h2>21. history</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>w̪̰̖̙̮̳̽ͣ̆ͩ̚̚͠ͅi̜ͯ̏͌ͤl̬̭̯͊b̦ͩ͘ṵ͕̪̳̭͇̲̅̏̾ͮ̊ͨ̐͟r̦͜</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Today, quite frankly, has been nothing but a bloody nightmare. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It started off well enough, with Tubbo’s daily submission of needed paperwork and the usual report from Dream, but, ah</span>
  <span>—things never quite went the way he wanted to, Wilbur thinks. As precise and carefully planned out his machinations were—people, at the end of the day, acted out based on their feelings—based on what they thought was </span>
  <em>
    <span>best</span>
  </em>
  <span>. But really people were more often than not wrong, because people are inherently emotional and lacked the clarity to see things as they are. Feelings blind people, Wilbur found. Tommy was driven by rage and the smallest shift in his emotions, Dream was driven by his incessant need for control, Eret was driven by carefully hidden envy and ambition. (And Fundy, of course, was driven by his desperate need for approval, but Wilbur shakes the thought away as the flash of fire appears in his mind’s eye. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Traitor son, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he thinks. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Never again.</span>
  </em>
  <span>)</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Everyone he’s ever known were all driven by emotion, and that was the one thing that kept them from seeing the bigger picture. Really, even Wilbur was, but his self-awareness could allow him to aim his compulsions towards the goals he designed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s why he understood the situation far better than anyone else. He held all the cards, shifting the tides of fate by shuffling the deck. It is, perhaps, why he was chosen by the gods above for this second chance—because he wasn’t driven by petty things such as family or his feelings—he was driven by the sole need to reclaim his land and make it the place it was always meant to be. Because the future, the future Wilbur knew, was plagued by sickness—a sickness that had been spreading since the moment L’manberg had a traitor amongst its ranks.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>This turning of the clock—it had simply been perfect.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Up until, of course, everything began to fall apart. Wilbur’s fingers twitched as he thought back to today’s events—</span>
  <em>
    <span>Quackity’s nervous grin and Tubbo behind him, talks of an election</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Demanding he listen to the people, the people who don’t know what they’re even doing—people are fools and democracy doesn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>work, </span>
  </em>
  <span>because leaders talk sweetly and make promises they will never fulfill all for the seat of power. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur would know. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Perhaps he was being a monster, but he did not care. It was a necessity, he thinks, and from the perspective of the narrative he was the savior, not the villain—and that was the role he’d play. A great leader must make sacrifices, after all, and playing the hero at the cost of his conscience was the price he was willing to pay. He held all the pieces, and understood the playing field. But with each move he changes the more the future becomes unpredictable, the more he loses control and the more frustration coils around his neck, tightening and suffocating him, leaving his vision blurred and unable to see the pieces. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And perhaps that was Wilbur’s mistake—people are emotional. He underestimated just how committed they’d be to righting what they perceived as wrong. They would never understand what he was doing. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“You need to give the people a choice,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Quackity had said, and Wilbur snarls. He slams the door shut behind him, clenching his fists and staring at the desk in front of him. </span>
  <em>
    <span>President Wilbur Soot, </span>
  </em>
  <span>his nameplate read, and on impulse he growled and dragged his arm across the desk, papers and little office trinkets that had been strewn on it clattering on the floor. The nameplate falls with a clang, and Wilbur heaves, staring at it. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>President, it mocked, and Quackity’s voice rings in Wilbur’s head—He </span>
  <em>
    <span>had </span>
  </em>
  <span>control, but now history was repeating itself. “This is all Tommy’s fault,” He mutters, pacing across the room. “If he hadn’t invited Big Q—god, no you’re being stupid. This would’ve happened regardless—</span>
  <em>
    <span>Tubbo </span>
  </em>
  <span>stood with him, and Niki encouraged it. If he wasn’t here, those two would’ve done it.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Did he make the mistake? The execution, admittedly, had been driven partially by Wilbur’s need for vindication, but at the end of the day, he had to purge L’manberg of the seed of betrayal. But… did it really start with Eret, or were the citizens of L’manberg just doomed to be traitors?</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Fundy—</span>
  <em>
    <span>arson, the flag burning in the distance, a wicked grin on his son’s face, saying he wasn’t Wilbur’s son</span>
  </em>
  <span>—with a snarl and biting words demanding his father to look at him, to just be there, to </span>
  <em>
    <span>care for once. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Tubbo—</span>
  <em>
    <span>a spy, a yes man</span>
  </em>
  <span>—with a steady gaze and firm in his stance, saying he agrees with Quackity’s beliefs, that L’manberg needs to uphold the tenets Wilbur himself had written in ink. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Tommy—</span>
  <em>
    <span>Tommy</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Unchanged, fiery, loyal. He had been wavering, Wilbur had thought, in the original future, but here, now—he believed everything Wilbur said. God—fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>Tommy.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He had been so steadfast, so willing to fight for </span>
  <em>
    <span>good</span>
  </em>
  <span>—would that repeat, too? Would he inevitably view Wilbur as evil, after every fucking thing Wilbur has done to ensure otherwise? Tommy wasn’t a hero, not anymore—Wilbur stole that from him, Wilbur took that away—was all that for nothing? </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“He wouldn’t betray me,” Wilbur muttered. Tommy was loyal, he reminds himself. Even in the future, when he believed Wilbur to be wrong. He was still loyal. Even if he didn’t understand Wilbur, he was loyal. Always loyal.“But the others will.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>History was doomed to repeat itself, after all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“People are fucking stupid,” He snarls, digging his nails into his palm. Quackity had proposed a fair election—just like before, just like in the </span>
  <em>
    <span>past</span>
  </em>
  <span>—and with how the pieces were falling it wouldn’t be long until everyone followed suit—Fundy would leave, and then Tubbo, and—his eyes widened.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“He’d be back.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>The words were uttered in a hush whisper, the realization weighing on Wilbur heavily. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>No.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>“No!” He growled, slamming his fists on his desk, his hair falling over his eyes. “After everything I’ve worked for, after everything I’ve done to ensure it wouldn’t happen again—</span>
  <em>
    <span>no. </span>
  </em>
  <span>I can’t let this all fall apart because of some upstart little </span>
  <em>
    <span>shit </span>
  </em>
  <span>who thinks I’m being a damn bloody tyrant.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Quackity would bring </span>
  <em>
    <span>him </span>
  </em>
  <span>back. It was inevitable, surely, and the thought blinds Wilbur, his heart pounding loudly against his chest like a drum. </span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>After everything—after </span>
  <em>
    <span>everything</span>
  </em>
  <span>—</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“History repeats itself,” He says out loud, red tinting the edge of his vision. “History fucking repeats itself.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>God, he was so stupid for even thinking L’manberg deserved a second chance. This was all a waste, everything he’s done—all of this—it would all come crashing down.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He had worked so hard. So goddamn hard to make sure none of this would ever happen ever again.</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Taking away Eret’s betrayal, taking away Tommy’s heroism, taking away </span>
  <em>
    <span>everything </span>
  </em>
  <span>that had undermined Wilbur’s control the first time around—it didn’t fucking matter. Because it would just happen all over again! Again and again and again. Even if he somehow got a third chance, it didn’t matter. At the end of the day, history repeated itself. So really, what was the point?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He might as well have blown up L’manberg the very second he got here.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“...but things have changed,” Wilbur murmured, continuing to walk across the room. Things have changed, he thinks. “Or perhaps the circumstances have, but things haven’t truly changed.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Because the people don’t, he thinks. People never change. They don’t. They always stay the same.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He stops in his tracks. A realization hits him. Not quite like a truck, but it is like light shines down at him and he looks up, finally seeing clarity. He had claimed to see everything clearly, but—he had been going about this all wrong.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“...if the future remains the same,” Wilbur says, something dawning on him. “Then I could control the variables.”</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span><br/>
</span>
  <span>Control the variables. Direct the circumstances to the most favourable outcome. The future stays the same, but the circumstances are different. If history is doomed to repeat itself, trying to desperately change it will do nothing but lead to everything crashing back down on him. Denying its due course will only cause catastrophe.</span>
  <span></span><br/>
<span><br/>
</span>
  <span>He looks down. Something catches his eye from the mess of things on the floor.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A photograph of Wilbur grinning widely, arm wrapped around a horned man and a peace sign above their heads. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Wilbur smiles, not quite matching the photograph. There is something almost dark, almost feral, in the way he smiles, hands shaking as he kneeled over to pick up the photo.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I can bring Schlatt here on my terms.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He laughs. It sounds hysterical.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>If there were tears running down his face as he did so, Wilbur didn’t notice.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Sorry for how short this chapter is! Anyway</p><p>;)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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